Kidnapped
by Iamokota
Summary: Sara is gone, taking with her Grissom's passion for investigating. He almost never goes into the field anymore...but when his team and Sara are kidnapped by a man bent on revenge, Grissom must put his feelings aside and find them before it's too late. GSR
1. Joseph Reichman

A/N: I do not own CSI or any related characters, places, or things.

* * *

Grissom hadn't slept in days. This was unusual, even for him, but he couldn't help it. Sleep would never come to him. Every since Sara had left, he just couldn't face their empty bed. The memories it held were too much for him to face. Instead, he watched T.V., willing his body to sleep, but sleep never came. He knew it was affecting his work, but he didn't know what to do about it. He worked methodically from one day to the next, from one case to the next, hoping that the next night would bring the sleep and relief that he so desperately needed. It never did.

The shift started like all the others had in recent weeks. He handed out assignments in the break room, a triple homicide that required the entire team to work together, and then excused himself to his office. He rarely went out into the field anymore, something he knew had not gone unnoticed with his team, but they had not commented on it and he had not offered an explanation. He sat down at his desk and worked for a few hours on some paperwork that he had been neglecting. It was dull work that did not require his full attention, so he let his thoughts wander. It was nearly 3 AM when the sharp trill of his cell phone jolted him out of his torpor.

He picked the phone up off the desk and looked at the caller I.D. He frowned because he did not recognize the number, but flipped the phone open anyway.

"Grissom."

There was silence on the other end. Grissom frowned and looked at the phone, making sure he had a signal. The phone was showing full bars. He tried again.

"Hello?"

Again, silence. Grissom listened intently trying to pick up some kind of sound from the other end, but detected nothing. Frustrated he reach up his finger to push the end button, but paused when he finally heard someone speak.

"Hello, Mr. Grissom. It has been a very long time."

Grissom frowned. The voice was distinctly male, a deep baritone that resonated even over the cell connection. The voice was also vaguely familiar, but Grissom could not figure out where he had heard it before.

"Who is this?" he asked, still frowning.

The voice on the other end laughed. "Why, Gil. I'm surprised at you. I thought for sure you would recognize my voice, above all others."

Grissom's frown deepened as he racked his sleep deprived brain trying to figure out where he had heard the voice before.

"Come on, Gil. I know you can do it. Put that prodigious brain to work. Figure it out."

And suddenly it clicked.

"Joseph Reichman," Grissom spat angrily. There were very few people in the world who could invoke such rage in him, but Joseph Reichman was one of them. A CSI gone bad, Reichman had used his prodigious skills as a crime scene analyst and his intimate knowledge of forensics to, quite literally, get away with murder. At the time, Reichman was a level three CSI in Los Angeles, California along with Grissom and three others. Then one day, the three others had turned up murdered in the middle of the LA crime lab and, suddenly, Grissom's entire world had come crashing down around him. As the only member of the team who had not been in the lab that day (he had had the flu), Grissom was the only person who could be ruled out as a suspect. On his own and against the people he had worked with side by side for so many years, Grissom started his investigation. As the evidence mounted, it became clearer and clearer who was to blame for the murders: Joseph Reichman. But Grissom had come up against a brick wall. He could not place Reichman at the crime scene that day. No one could remember seeing him and he had left behind no DNA, no fingerprints…nothing. The case was dropped and the three murdered CSI's were not given justice. Grissom had eventually moved on past the shame he felt for allowing their killer to get away, but he never forgot what Reichman had done.

The voice laughed again bringing Grissom back to the present. "Very good, Gil. Very good."

Grissom seethed at the taunting. "What do you want, Joseph?"

"Oh, nothing," Reichman said flippantly. "Just thought I would check up on you, for old time's sake."

Grissom said nothing. He could feel rage coursing through him like hot iron in his blood. He reached up a finger to press the end button.

"I wouldn't hang up if I was you," said Reichman. "Your team would be very disappointed to hear that their supervisor was so cold and uncaring. Not good on morale, Gil."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Grissom asked through clenched teeth. "What does my team have to do with you?"

Grissom could hear Reichman laughing and then suddenly, he heard a very different voice over the phone.

"Gil? Gil, it's Catherine." His breath caught in his throat and his heart nearly stopped. She sounded terrified. He could hear the panic in her voice and that scared him more than anything. Catherine never panicked.

"Catherine? What the...what's going on? Where are you?"

"Gil, listen to me," she said hurriedly. "Reichman kidnapped us. The triple murder case was a set up. He used the murders to lure us away from the lab and then he kidnapped us."

Grissom couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Wait…us? Who else is with you, Cath?"

"Greg and Nick and Warrick and…Sara."

Grissom's mouth dropped open. "Sara?"

"I don't know where he found her. He already had her when he kidnapped us. Listen, Gil. We're headed out of Vegas to the west and –"

Catherine's voice suddenly cut off. Grissom's heart jumped into his throat. "Catherine? Catherine! Catherine, what's going on?"

"I think that's enough talk for now."

It was Reichman again. Grissom felt rage well up in him.

"Damn you, Reichman!" Grissom yelled. "What the hell are you doing? Let my team go!"

"No, I don't think so, Gil." Reichman said in a bored voice. "Anyway, it's been nice chatting. I'm sure we'll be talking again soon. Maybe, if you're a good boy, I'll let you talk to another member of your team later. For now, all you need to know is that your team is alive and well, though I'm not sure how much longer that will last. You know better than anyone what a taste I have for the blood of CSI's." Reichman laughed again, making Grissom's blood run cold. "Anyway…ta-ta for now."

The line went dead. Grissom pounded his fist down on his desk in frustration and nearly threw the phone across the room. Rage was pounding in his ears as he bolted out of his chair and headed down the hall, dialing his cell as he went. On the third ring, Brass picked up.

"Hey, Gil."

"Jim. Listen, I just got a call from a man named Joseph Reichman. He…he's kidnapped my entire team. He's taking them somewhere west of –"

Brass cut him off. "Whoa, Gil, slow down. What are you talking about?"

"My team has been kidnapped, Jim!" Grissom yelled in frustration as he passed the trace lab. "That triple homicide in West Las Vegas was a set-up! He lured my team there and he took them. He's got them all, Jim. Catherine, Nick, Warrick, Greg, and…Sara." Grissom's voice broke slightly when he said her name.

There was a stunned silence on the other end. Grissom was nearly to his destination. He could almost read the sign on the office door.

"I can't explain everything right now, Jim," Grissom said. "But get over here as quick as you can. We need to get on this and quick."

"Ok, Gil. I'll be right there."

Grissom snapped the phone shut just as he reached the office. The light inside was on, which was unusual for its occupant, but Grissom had never been happier to see that light in all his career at the Vegas Crime Lab. He knocked on the door and burst inside without waiting for a reply.

Conrad Ecklie was sitting at his desk going over some papers. The assistant lab director was almost never in the lab this late, but Grissom was glad, perhaps for the first time in his life, to see Ecklie. Ecklie's face was surprised, but his voice was even as he greeted Grissom.

"Gil," he said pleasantly. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Grissom glared at Ecklie. "Pleasure is not the word I would use, Conrad," he said in a clipped voice. "My team has been kidnapped."

Ecklie shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Come again?"

_Why didn't anybody seem to understand what he was saying today?_ "My team has been kidnapped, Conrad," he said, his voice laced with frustration and fear. "By a man named Joseph Reichman. I worked with Reichman at the Los Angeles Crime Lab years and years ago. He murdered three other CSI's and got away with it. I was the one that investigated the matter, but I couldn't find any hard evidence that placed him at the scene, but even so, he was disgraced and had to leave the lab. I haven't seen or heard from him in all these years until today, about five minutes ago. He called me and he has my team. I talked to Catherine. She managed to tell me that they were headed to the west, but that's all I got from her. I called Brass on the way here and he's on his way over."

When Grissom finished speaking he looked at Ecklie. The assistant lab director's mouth was gaping open. For the first time in his life, it seemed that Conrad Ecklie was speechless. Grissom waited for a second and then gave up.

"Look, Conrad," he said. "You need to notify the sheriff. We need to get every available officer on this. I also need you to call in all the CSI's from days and swing to help me out here. Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it!"

Ecklie shook his head again and picked up the phone looking dazed. As he dialed he looked up at Grissom. "How could this have happened?" he asked his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Grissom was taken aback. "I don't know, Conrad," he admitted. "But I'm going to get to the bottom of it and I'm going to get my team back. Now, dial that phone."

* * *

TBC. Let me know what you think!


	2. The Search Begins

A/N: I do not own CSI, no matter how much I wish I did.

* * *

It had been about an hour and a half since Reichman had called Grissom. Ecklie had finally managed to round up all the available CSI's from days and swing as well as the sheriff, who would be briefing about a hundred uniformed officers on the situation, and all the lab techs that worked on all shifts. Brass was also there looking particularly grave. 

In the time it had taken Ecklie to round up the troops, Grissom had hooked his cell phone up to a remote tracer so they would be able to tell where the call was coming from and he had also managed to calm down just a little bit. He didn't think that Reichman would harm his team…not just yet anyway. But either way, time was of the essence and Grissom was making the most of his.

Since the break room in the lab was too small to hold everyone, Grissom had decided they should meet in the garage. Ecklie had managed to procure an amplifier and a microphone to ensure that everyone could hear properly. Grissom was sitting at the front of the assembled crowd waiting for the last of the team to assemble when Ecklie came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Grissom raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?"

"Uh…listen, Gil," Ecklie said, obviously uncomfortable. "I just got done talking to Brass and he told me that this Reichman character didn't just kidnap Brown, Stokes, Sanders, and Willows. Brass said that Sara Sidle was also kidnapped." Ecklie stopped for a moment and looked at Grissom. Grissom merely stared at the man blankly, unwilling or perhaps unable to say anything.

Ecklie cleared his throat and plowed on. "I uh, wasn't aware that you even knew where Sidle was," the assistant lab director said slowly. "I thought she just left with no indication of where she was going."

Grissom closed his eyes. It looked to Ecklie as though he had fallen asleep. The man had turned to leave when Grissom spoke. Ecklie turned back to him and found that supervisor's eyes were moist.

"I didn't know where she was, Conrad," he said in a rather constricted voice. "I still don't know where she is. I don't even know how Reichman knew I was ever involved with Sara."

Ecklie nodded and opened his mouth to speak when the sheriff interrupted.

"Let's get this party started, gentleman," the man said gruffly. "Time is something we have precious little of."

Grissom nodded and rose from his chair, grabbing the microphone as he went. He cleared his throat to get everyone's attention and then raised the mic to his mouth.

"Approximately an hour and a half ago," he began gravely. "I got a call from a man named Joseph Reichman. Reichman is a former CSI from Los Angeles. We worked together for several years until three of our fellow CSI's turned up murdered in the middle of the lab." Grissom paused to let that sink in. A ripple of shock passed around the room. Grissom took a deep breath and continued.

"I was a CSI level three at the time and was the only one available to investigate my colleague's deaths as I was the only CSI who had, without a doubt, not been in the lab that day. As the evidence mounted, I eliminated suspects, one by one, until my only reasonable conclusion was that Reichman had committed the murders. There was just one problem: I had no physical evidence linking him to the crime. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, his gun had not been used in the murders, and no one could remember seeing him in the lab that day, though he had clocked in. I could not prove that Reichman had done so much as look at the three dead CSI's, much less that he had murdered them. I was forced to drop the case and Reichman walked free, though he had to leave the law enforcement field after the disgrace of being arrested on suspicion of murder." Grissom stopped again, letting them process that information.

"What does this have to do with anything?" an angry voice rang out from the back of the crowd. "And why isn't your team taking care of this, Grissom? It's 4:30 in the morning. This is grave's responsibility, not days or swing."

Grissom looked and saw that one of the CSI's from days, Martin Brubaker, was the one who had spoken. Brubaker's face was red and there were deep bags under his eyes. It looked as though the CSI had been in bed when he received Ecklie's call. Grissom took a deep, steadying breath, trying to control the anger in his voice.

"Why isn't my team taking care of this, Brubaker?" he asked, his eyes blazing. "I'll tell you why." Grissom paused and stared at the man. "My team was kidnapped by Reichman."

Brubaker, and indeed everyone else, looked as though they had been slapped. Faces paled throughout the room and many people gasped audibly. Ronnie Lake, Sara's former partner, looked close to tears. Grissom allowed them a moment to calm down a bit and then plowed on.

"Here's what we know," he said, slipping into his role as lead CSI and supervisor. "Reichman lured my team away from the lab with a staged triple homicide. Though we haven't had a chance to process the scene or, indeed, even go to the scene he probably took them once they were inside. Detective Brass checked with the officer that was on the scene shortly after I notified him of the kidnapping and the officer said he hadn't even realized that they were missing. I need three volunteers to go and process the scene."

Immediately, seven hands shot into the air. Grissom felt his knees go weak with gratitude.

"Thank you," he said softly. He selected Karen Marks and Randy Jenkins from days and George Emerson from swing. As the trio left to collect their field kits, Grissom put the mic back up to his mouth. "Next, we need two people to do background checks on Reichman and find out everything about him: where he sleeps, where he eats, what he likes to do in his spare time, financial records…everything. I'd like Ronnie Lake and Ernie Roberts to handle that."

Ronnie and Ernie, both from swing, nodded and headed out the door to start the background check. Grissom continued on and assigned the various other people to their various tasks. When the room was empty of everyone but him and Brass, he looked over at the detective and let the mask of surety and calm that he had been wearing slip off.

"You okay, Gil?"

Grissom took a shaky breathe and then shook his head. "No, Jim. I'm not okay," he said. He sounded exhausted.

Jim felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. "Gil…are you sure you shouldn't recuse yourself from this case? You're obviously emotionally involved in this case. I mean…this is your team, Gil. A good defense attorney is going to say that you weren't able to look at this case objectively."

Brass watched as pain clouded Grissom's face. The man looked so downcast that Brass suddenly wished he hadn't said anything.

"I know I should, Jim," he said slowly. "But I…I can't. I have to do something, I have to be involved. Otherwise…I'm going to go crazy. Reichman has my team, Jim…and my fiancé. I can't just sit back and watch while they're in danger."

Brass nodded. He had already known how Grissom would answer the question. "Here's an idea for you. Why don't you name Ecklie as the supervisor for the case? He can take care of all the legalities and you can coordinate everything."

Grissom started to shake his head, but after thinking about it for a minute he changed to a nod. "I think you're probably right, Jim." Grissom ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes blearily. "I think I'll go back to my office and see if I can find anything out about this staged murder that lured my team into a trap."

"I'll come with you and give Ecklie a call."

Grissom nodded and he and Brass made their way back towards Grissom's office. As quiet as the lab had been earlier in the morning, it was now a bustle of activity as everyone worked their hardest to try and find the missing CSI's. It was just after 6 AM, about 3 hours since Grissom had received the initial call.

When Brass and Grissom reached Grissom's office the latter seated himself behind his desk and the former sat down at a chair in front of Grissom's desk. Grissom opened up his laptop and logged in. He had just started looking through the case database when a sharp trill rang out through the office. Brass looked down at his cell phone and shook his head. Heart pounding, Grissom clicked the window on his laptop that brought up the call tracing program and flipped the computer around so Brass could see it. Hands shaking slightly, Grissom flipped open his cell phone and answered as calmly as he could.

"Grissom."

"So good to hear your voice, Gil," said the sneering voice of Joseph Reichman.

"Where is my team, Joseph?"

Reichman laughed harshly. "Now, really, Gil… Do you think I would actually tell you that?"

"No, but it was worth a shot." Grissom glanced up at Brass who was focusing on the computer. He shook his head slightly, indicating that a trace hadn't been made yet.

"You should know better, Gil."

Grissom didn't reply, but continued to watch Brass. The detective's eyebrows were knitted together in concentration, his eyes searching the screen, waiting. Waiting…

"Anyway, I told you that I would let you talk to another of your team members and I'm a man of my word. Here's a little treat for you." There was a sound of the phone passing through the air and then Grissom heard Reichman say something in the background. Finally, someone spoke.

"Gil?"

Grissom felt his heart stop. "S…Sara?"

* * *

Dun, dun, dun! Cliffie! TBC. Reviewslove ;)


	3. The Photos

A/N: I do not own CSI. What a travesty!

* * *

"Sara?"

Grissom could hardly believe his ears. She sounded exhausted and scared, but there was a hint of something else in her voice. Was it regret?

"It's me, Gil. Oh…I'm so sorry, Gil. I never should have left. I'm so, so sorry," she said. He could tell she was crying.

"It's ok, Sara," he said gently. "I understand. I understood everything when I read your letter. Please, hang on just a little bit longer. I'm going to find you. All of you. I love you so much, Sara."

"I love you too, Gil. Keep looking. I know if anyone can find us, it's you."

Grissom felt his heart swell in his chest. He glanced over at Brass with his eyebrows raised, hoping that the trace had finally come through. The detective caught Grissom's eye and nodded then took out his own cell phone and called Search and Rescue. Grissom pulled his attention back to the phone just as Reichman spoke again.

"How heartwarming," the former CSI taunted. "I daresay you'll be seeing, Miss Sidle again in person…perhaps. For now, though, you'll just have to be content with the pictures I took the liberty of e-mailing you. Mr. Sanders was kind enough to give me your email address. I'll have to thank him somehow."

"Why are you doing this, Joseph? What is there to be gained by holding my CSI's hostage?"

" Plenty," Reichman said savagely. "Now, I have work to do. Until next time, Gil, I bid you adieu." Reichman laughed again and the line went dead. Grissom snapped the phone shut and glanced over at Brass who was just finishing up a call to the sheriff. Grissom looked at the detective, an unspoken question in his eyes.

"Search and Rescue is just getting into the air. The sheriff is briefing his officers now and then they'll be hitting the road. Ecklie has been briefed and he's sending a team of five CSI's with us to the location. They'll be ready to go in about 15 minutes."

"Where did the trace come from?"

"A remote location about 15 miles to the west of Vegas. Mostly unpopulated, but he used a land line phone." Brass looked up thoughtfully. " You know...for a person who was able to get away with murder, he's not being very smart about this."

Grissom smiled grimly. "And there lies Joseph Reichman's greatest mistake. He was the best CSI we had in LA…nearly twenty years ago. A lot has changed since Reichman was a CSI and he's been out of the loop for a long time now. He may not be aware of some of the newer technologies we have."

Brass nodded thoughtfully.

Grissom turned his laptop around so it was facing him. He pulled up his e-mail program and found that he had a new e-mail from someone called, "LasaninvJore." Grissom clicked on the link and brought up the e-mail in a new window. There was no message just a prompt telling him how to download the attachment. Grissom clicked on the attachment and waited while the computer scanned and downloaded the files. When it was finished, he took a deep breath and opened them.

There were very few things that could make Gil Grissom feel such rage, but the pictures in front of him…he felt bile rise up in his throat.

The first picture was of Greg Sanders, the youngest CSI on Grissom's team. Greg was dressed in his CSI vest and a pair of jeans. He was blindfolded and his hands were bound behind his back. Greg was lying on his side on a non-descript dirt floor. There was another person partially in the picture, back to back with Greg, but he couldn't tell which of his team it was. A block wall provided the backdrop. From what Grissom could see, Greg was unharmed.

The next picture was of Nick Stokes. Nick had a nasty gash above his right eye, but the wound wasn't bleeding and it looked as though it had been cleaned and stitched up. Nicky was dressed much in the same way that Greg was and he was also bound in the same way. The only difference was that Nick's mouth was duck taped shut. Grissom mulled over that. He would have thought that Joseph would have to shut Greg up before Nick. The younger CSI was notorious for running his mouth, especially when he was scared or nervous. Grissom almost smiled at the thought.

Warrick Brown was next in line. He looked a little worse for the wear. He had a cut on his left cheek, possibly a broken nose, and the leg of his jeans were ripped and slightly bloody. Warrick looked as though he had been cared for just as well as Nick had been. His cheek had been cleaned and his nose looked like it had been set. Warrick, like Nick and Greg, was wearing his CSI vest, but he had forgone the jeans and was wearing a pair of dark slacks. Warrick was blindfolded, his hands tied behind his back, and his legs had also been tied together at the ankles. Grissom was sure that Warrick had fought hard against his captor and he felt a sudden surge of pride for the tall CSI.

Catherine Willows' picture came up next. Her picture made Grissom's eyes sting with tears. Catherine was laying flat on her back with her hands tied in front of her. She was blindfolded, like the others and she, like Nicky, had duct tape covering her mouth. A nasty gash marred her beautiful face from the top of her eyebrow down to her chin. It did not look like it had been cared for in any way. Catherine was only partially dressed, however. Her CSI vest was the only top she was wearing and it was partially open revealing Catherine's bare stomach and the space in between her breasts. She had a pair of dark brown slacks gathered around her ankles and a thin pair of red panties covering up her unmentionables. Grissom felt rage boiling in him at the atrocities he imagined that Joseph had performed on her. Tears stung at his eyes the longer he looked at her picture. He lingered, however, because he was afraid of what he would see in the next picture. Each picture was progressively worse than the last and the final picture...He took a deep breath and clicked the mouse.

Gil Grissom was not a man given to tears, but, for the first time all evening, he could not hold the tears back. The moisture felt hot and angry against his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe the tears away. He was too shocked and angry at the image that was assaulting his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair.

There was his Sara, his beautiful, perfect Sara, the only woman who had ever been able to capture his wayward heart. She was lying on her side, on the dirt floor, completely nude. Her body was covered with all manner of cuts and abrasions and bruises, making it look like she had been to hell and back. Sara had not been blindfolded as the others had, but Grissom thought this had less to do with mercy and more to do with torture. Sara was free to look around and see where she was, but having no blindfold also meant she was forced to see her friends suffer…and she was forced to watch as her captor performed all manner of horrible acts on her and Catherine. Grissom could see it in Sara's eyes, which were looking straight into the camera: She had been used and abused mercilessly. The suffering in the brown eyes he had come to love was too much for him. He put his head in his hands, feeling hot, angry tears drip through his fingers. He sat that way for some time, until a hand on his shoulder startled him. He turned and saw Brass staring at the picture of Sara, whom he had always held a soft spot for, revulsion and rage written on every line of the detective's face.

"That bastard," Brass whispered, his voice constricted. "That damn bastard."

Grissom nodded and wiped his tears away with his sleeve. Brass squeezed the supervisor's shoulder.

"Come on, Gil," he said, a new edge in his voice. "Let's go. We're going to find this sick bastard and take him down. Nobody does that my Sara. Nobody."

* * *

Awws! I love sentimental Brass. :). TBS. Please R&R. That makes me happy!


	4. Five Minus One

A/N: I do not own CSI. Santa just doesn't want me to...le sigh

* * *

Without waiting for Grissom's reply, Brass strode out the door. Grissom wiped his face one last time and then followed the determined detective down the hallway and out of the crime lab. There were about 20 police cars lined up in front of the lab and twice as many cops milling around. The five CSI's that had been assigned to help were milling in a group around Ecklie who was giving last minute instructions to the investigators. Brass led Grissom over to where the sheriff was checking with Search & Rescue to see if they had found anything yet. When the man spotted Grissom and Brass, he wrapped up his conversation and turned to the two men.

"We're just about ready to pull out," he said grimly. "Search & Rescue has a fix on the location and they say they are fairly sure that your team is there. We've instructed them to set up a perimeter, but not to engage. You two will be riding with me in the lead car. Medical personnel are standing by to assess your team once we have recovered them. You guys ready to take this son of a bitch down?"

Grissom and Brass both nodded and the sheriff smiled grimly. He shouted at the uniforms to get ready and then motioned at Brass and Grissom to join him in the car.

A few minutes later the convoy of Taurus's, Denali's, and ambulances were screaming down an interstate out of town, all lights and sirens flashing and wailing. Grissom didn't notice the noise or the lights. He had thoughts only for his team and especially for Sara. It seemed to him that it took no time for them to cover the fifteen miles to their destination and, it felt like it was only seconds later that Grissom was standing outside the sheriff's car with a whole host of other police officers. The convoy had formed a semi circle around a small house in the middle of a deserted stretch of desert. The sheriff surveyed the area and then turned to Grissom, a grave expression on his face.

"Gil, I know this is going to be hard for you, but you're our only link to this psychotic son of a bitch. We think it needs to be you that makes the first move. This whole deal is obviously about your history with the perp. We'll cover you, but it's got to be you."

Grissom nodded. He had already known what the sheriff was telling him. In the end, he knew it would come down to just him and Reichman: Good cop versus bad cop. Grissom almost smiled at the irony. Brass stepped up next to Grissom.

"I'm going too," he said simply. Grissom felt a rush of gratitude for the detective. Before he could express this sentiment, however, they were heading towards the house.

Walking slowly, Grissom and Brass approached the only door of the small house. The investigator in Grissom noted the complete lack of footprints in the area and the lack of tire prints. There was something not quite right there, but Grissom pushed it out of his mind and continued towards the house. He did not have time to be a CSI right now. Not when the life of his team and the fate of his fiancé hung in the balance.

They finally reached the door and Grissom, thikning it was the most logical move, raised a fist to knock on it. It came open when he did and Brass gave Grissom a meaningful look. Grissom blanched slightly, but took his gun out and let it proceed him into the house. The room he had stepped into was empty of all furniture and decoration. Grissom swept the room once and then glance back at Brass who raised his walky talky and gave the all clear for the first room. Grissom looked around and saw a single door leading out of the room to the right. He pointed this out to Brass and the two men crossed the room carefully. Grissom pushed the door of the door open with his gun. He stopped at the sight that met his eyes. It drove the breath out of the CSI's lungs.

Greg Sanders was laying in the middle of the bare wooden floor. He was bound as he had been in the picture Grissom had received and he was still dressed the same way. The only difference was the bloody gash in the young CSI's forehead. Grissom swept the room with his eyes before rushing to Greg's side and placing two fingers to the boy's neck. Relief coursed through him as a strong pulse thudded against his fingers. The boy was out cold, but Grissom was sure he would be all right. Grissom looked up at Brass who was alread on the walky talky again and updating the force outside on the situation. A team of EMT's was in the house a moment later to check on Greg.

"Is he going to be okay?" Grissom asked them.

One of the EMT's glanced up at Grissom. "He's unconscious, but I think he'll be all right. He may have a concussion, but we'll be able to assess that better when we get him to the hospital.

Grissom nodded and then look at Brass, gesturing towards the next door. The two men approached it and, again, Grissom pushed it open with his gun. A double dose of fear coursed through the supervisor when he saw the contents of this room.

Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown were lying bound in this room. They, like Greg, were dressed in the same fashion they had been before and were also bound in the same fashion. The difference between their pictures and now was the blood that covered each of them. Nick's shirt was soaked with blood as were Warrick's pants. Grissom ran to Nicky's side and tore the shirt off the man's body. There were three distinct stab wounds to his left shoulder. Grissom pressed down on the wounds as Brass mouthed gunshot to him from his place by Warrick's side. Brass radioed for another two medical teams as Nick groaned and tried to open his eyes. Grissom's heart leapt.

"Nicky?" he said softly. "Nicky, can you hear me?"

Nick started slightly at the sound of Grissom's voice. "Gr – Grissom?" he said faintly.

"That's right, Nicky," Grissom said softly. "I'm here."

Nick's mouth twitched slightly and Grissom had the feeling that the CSI was trying to smile. "I…knew…you'd…find us…Grissom."

Grissom started to say something in return, but Nicky had fallen unconscious and Brass confirmed that Warrick was also not responding. Grissom felt anger course through him as he pressed on Nick's damaged shoulder. Grissom waited until the medics had arrived and stabilized Nicky and Warrick, then he and Brass headed for the next door. Grissom pushed this one open and again, felt a rush of fear as he rushed to the center of the room and dropped to floor next to the blood covered body.

"Catherine!" he yelled. "Oh my god… Catherine, can you hear me?"

It was definitely Catherine lying in the middle of the room, but Grissom probably wouldn't have recognized her if he hadn't seen the name on her CSI vest and the strawberry blonde hair that was fanned out around her head. Her face was mutilated beyond all recognition. Bloody slashes crisscrossed over every inch of her once beautiful face. It was almost as if Joseph had taken Catherine's beauty as a personal insult. Grissom doubted that she would ever look the same again. Brass, who was staring blankly at Catherine's face, radioed for yet another medical team and the two men, again, waited until Catherine had been stabilized before they proceeded on. Grissom turned to face the final door and took a deep breath before pushing it open and proceeding into the room.

Grissom stopped in the doorway, not quite comprehending what he was seeing. It was the final room, of that he was sure. There were no other doors leading out and there were no trap doors in the floor or ceiling. But if it was the final room then…

_Where was Sara?_

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Another cliffie! hehe. I'm so mean. Please, R&R! That just makes my day!


	5. A Hollow Spot

A/N: I do not own CSI...darny!

* * *

Grissom stared blankly at the near empty room in front of him. Where he had expected to find Sara there was only a plain, white envelope, bearing his name. Grissom pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, stooped down, and opened the envelope carefully and peered inside. There was a piece of paper and a picture in the envelope. Grissom passed the paper to Brass, who had also donned latex gloves, and extracted the picture. He felt his heart break when he looked at it.

It was of Sara, as he had expected. She was, again, completely nude and just as battered and bruised as she had been before. The difference between this picture and the first picture was the position Sara was in. She was kneeling and attempting the cover herself up with her hands and preserve what little dignity she had left. That alone was enough to break Grissom's heart. She just looked so…defeat. It made him nauseous to see her posed in such a way. He was further sickened by the position Sara was in. Her neck was exposed and Joseph Reichman was standing next to her, grinning widely and pressing a knife to her throat. A note at the bottom of the Polaroid said, "Tick-tock, Grissom. The first 48 hours after a kidnapping are the most crucial. Find her if you can."

Hot anger burned in the pit of Grissom's stomach as he looked at the picture of Sara. He turned to look at Brass who was looking at the paper, a shocked expression on his face. Brass looked up at Grissom apparently at a loss for words.

"What does it say, Jim?" Grissom asked him bluntly.

Brass took a deep breath. "Gil…I…I..."

"What does it say?"

Silently Brass held the letter out to Grissom. Grissom steeled himself and began to read.

_Gil,_

_Reichman gave me the__ opportunity to write this letter to you. I don't know why he's l__etting me do this, but in any event__, I'__m grateful and I'm going to capitalize on the moment. It's difficult to hold this pen because I think my wrist is fractured, but I'll do the best I can. _

_I don'__t know where we are. We moved __during the night and, though I'm not bli__ndfolded any other time, he put__ a sheet over my head to keep me from seeing where we were. I wish I could tell you more, but that's all I know. I'm sorry, Gil. _

_He's been keeping me drugged. I'm not exactly sure what he's using because I am generally aware of my surroundings, but I don't have the strength or the ability to fight him. He's a cruel, cold person. I see why he made such a good CSI. He has no regret, no sympathy, no…nothing. He scares me, Gil. Even when I thought you were emotionless, back in the old days, I knew that you at least had some feeling for the victim's we saw every day. Reichman has none of that. An emotionless man is the most dangerous kind._

_I don't know if I'm going to come out of this one alive, Gil. I know you don't want to read that, but I am merely stating what the evidence tells me. As you have always said, "The evidence never lies." If I die, know that I do not blame you. I know that you have been doing everything in your power to find us...__to find me._

_I'm sure, that by the time you get this letter, you will have recovered the others. I hope you find them quickly, especially Catherine. __Reichman was methodically mutilating her face the last time I saw her. Her screams, Gil…they still haunt my dreams whenever Reichman lets me catch a few minutes of sleep._

_I miss you, Gil, and I know that you will not rest until you find me. I take comfort in knowing that you are out there, using every ounce of your strength to find me. I love you, Gil. I always will. _

_Sara_

Grissom finished reading the letter and stared at the paper as if he could somehow reach into it and pull Sara out. Brass had taken over the picture that Grissom had laid aside and was clutching it, white knuckled, apparently trying to resist the urge to rip it to shreds. Grissom stood and put a hand on the detective's shoulder. The two men exited the room the same way they had come, taking the envelope and its contents with them. Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg were all gone out of their respective rooms, as were the EMT's that had been attending them. Brass and Grissom met the five CSI's who had come with them entering the house to process the scene. Grissom cleared his throat to get their attention. The five investigator's turned to look at him.

"Look…" he began. "I know I'm not your supervisor, but…you have to be quick, but thorough on this one. Any evidence we find could potentially be the key to finding Sara. One of you needs to pay special to the final room. That's the room that Sara should have been in." He paused meeting each of the investigator's eyes. "Good luck."

The five CSI's nodded, a new fire in their eyes, and headed into the house. Grissom turned to Brass.

"There's something bothering me here, Jim," he said, his expression troubled. "I don't understand how Reichman got my team into that house. There were no footprints or tire prints leading to or away from the house. Not anywhere. I didn't think much of it at the time because I was too worried about finding the team, but now…there's just something not right about this scene."

Brass looked around thoughtfully. "You want to go back inside and check out the scene?"

Grissom thought for a moment then nodded. "But I need to go talk to the sheriff and Ecklie first. They need to hear a firsthand account of what happened in that house. I need to give Ecklie the envelope too so he can get it back to Trace and see if there is anything useful on it."

Brass nodded and he and Grissom walked back to the semi-circle of police cruisers where Ecklie and the sheriff were standing. The sheriff watched Grissom approach, his expression grim.

"Gil," he said immediately. "You'll be happy to know that Sanders, Stokes, and Brown are going to be just fine. They're all in stable condition at Desert Palms and it's expected that they should be out of the hospital in just a few days. We have guards posted outside their respective doors, just in case Reichman comes back for them."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "And Catherine?"

The sheriff's expression grew even grimmer. "She's still listed as serious. The doctors say that she lost a lot of blood from the wounds on her face. They're also saying there is evidence that she was sexually abused several times during her captivity. Evidence also suggests that she fought…hard. She's expected to make a full recovery, but it's going to be touch and go for a while."

Grissom felt a mixture of anger and pride at Catherine's prognosis. She was a survivor and he knew that she would be fine eventually, but he was disgusted to learn of the violation she had suffered. The sheriff watched Grissom carefully for a moment before he spoke again.

"What happened in there, Gil?"

Grissom took a deep breath and then told the sheriff everything he had seen. When he was finished, the sheriff frowned and looked at Ecklie. Ecklie shifted uncomfortably.

"Gil, I know that this is going to make you mad, but…I don't think you should be working this case anymore. You're too involved."

Grissom looked at Ecklie as though he was an interesting new bug that Grissom wanted to study. Ecklie shifted uncomfortably again. Brass watched the exchange with a barely concealed smile on his face. After a second, Grissom merely turned away and headed back towards the house. Ecklie made to go after him, but stopped at the look Brass threw his way. Brass caught up to Grissom, still barely concealing his glee.

"That may have been the funniest thing I've seen since I joined the police force,"

Grissom smiled tightly, but didn't say anything. Grissom walked briskly through the door of the house and past the CSI's who were diligently photographing the rooms and collecting what little evidence there was to collect. They looked up as Grissom and Brass passed, but did not comment on the CSI and detective walking through their respective crime scenes. When Grissom walked into the final room he cleared his throat to announce his presence to the CSI processing the room.

The CSI turned around and Grissom saw that it was Jonathon Kohler from swing. Kohler had been at the Vegas Crime Lab almost as long as Grissom himself. The man had a great reputation around the lab and was considered to be the most dependable person to have at a crime scene. His specialty was trace analysis, though it was said that Kohler had even less people skills than Grissom did.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Grissom?" Kohler asked.

Grissom almost smiled at the man's formalities. "Please, call me Gil. And no, there isn't anything you can do for me, Jonathon."

Kohler raised an eyebrow. "I'm already processing the room."

Grissom, too, raised an eyebrow. "Then, please, continue to do so. I just need to look for something."

Kohler's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, but he said nothing more. The CSI went back to photographing the room, though he glanced over at Grissom occasionally. Brass, who had watched the exchange without comment, looked at the swing shift CSI distastefully. Grissom nearly smiled again, but was quickly sobered when he remembered why they were there in the first place.

Avoiding Kohler as much as possible, Grissom kept close to the walls of the small, empty room. He paid special attention to the baseboards, looking for anything that was suspicious or out of place. He made two complete circuits and then put his hands on his hips and sighed heavily, thinking. He stood there like that for a long time.

Brass watched the supervisor carefully. Years of dealing with Gil Grissom, had taught the detective that Grissom liked to be left alone when he was considering a crime scene. It was all part of Grissom's reasoning process and Brass had come to respect that in the CSI. The detective waited patiently and was rewarded a few minutes later when Grissom walked to the nearest wall, the one with the door, pressed his ear against it, and tapped on it with his knuckles. When that test yielded undesirable results, he moved over a few inches and tried again.

Grissom worked his way around the room, leaving no inch of wall untouched. Brass had a feeling he knew what Grissom was looking for. Finally, on the back wall, opposite the door, Grissom's labor paid off. He turned to Brass.

"A hollow spot," he said gravely.

"Could just be an architectural flaw,"

"I don't think so," Grissom said thoughtfully. "If it was just a flaw, it would only be present in this one tiny area. The hollow spot stretches three feet lengthwise, from here to here." He indicated the locations.

Brass was impressed. "Three feet, huh? That's about the right width for a door." Brass turned to Grissom, a grave smile on his face. "Hammer time?"

Grissom nodded, smiling tightly. "Hammer time."

* * *

Hate me yet? hehe. Please, R&R. Reviews are teh love! 


	6. The Passage

A/N: I, as always, do not own CSI.

* * *

Grissom marked the hollow area in the wall with a marker and waited until Kohler had finished processing the rest of the room before calling the sheriff and telling him what he had found. The sheriff sent five officers into the house to assist Grissom and Brass and then told them to keep in contact via radio. Grissom retrieved a saws-all from the back of one of the Crime Lab's Denali's and headed back to the room to get to work. Brass greeted him at the door.

"You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Grissom turned the saw on and carefully followed the lines he had made on the wall. With each swipe of the saw, he felt as though he was one step closer to finding Sara…and one step closer to finding Reichman. After five minutes of heavy sawing, Grissom sat the tool down, pried his fingers into the cracks the saw had made, and slowly eased the loose section from the wall. After setting the piece aside, he turned to see what fruit his labor had yielded.

Where there had been a clean, flawless section of wall moments before, there was now a gaping hole. Further inspection revealed a flight of damp, stone steps leading down. Grissom could only see a few feet into the passageway before everything was swallowed in darkness. Grissom looked back at Brass, whose eyes were narrowed.

"Well that explains the lack of footprints," said the detective.

Grissom nodded. "I figured as much. What do you think? Proceed on?"

"All the money in the world couldn't keep me out of there."

Grissom nodded again and then turned to the five uniforms milling around behind him. "We're going in, guys. Flashlights out. And guns," he added after a meaningful look from Brass. "I have no idea what we're going to find at the end of this, so be on your guard at all times. This could turn against us very quickly."

The officers nodded and hurried to comply with Grissom's instructions. When everyone was ready, Grissom nodded at Brass who stepped up to the entrance of the passageway and shined his flashlight down into the gloom. After a few seconds, he began to descend the stairs carefully. Grissom came up right behind him followed by the five officers.

The passageway, which smelled dank and earthy, was wooden for about 10 steps and then changed into dirt. Grissom counted steps as they descended, but after about 150 he lost count. The image of Sara's naked, bruised body and the words, "Find her if you can," kept interrupting his count. The air was noticeably colder in the passageway and Grissom felt goose bumps popping up all along his arms, a sensation he was not at all accustomed to.

After about five minutes of going down, the steps suddenly ended and the group found themselves standing in a damp, dirt tunnel that stretched indiscriminately into the dark. They tried to gauge how long the tunnel was, but their flashlight beams were swallowed up by the darkness after only a few feet. Brass looked back at Grissom, who gestured forward with his flashlight. Brass nodded and continued on.

The group walked for several minutes in tense silence. Grissom found himself wondering what they were going to find at the end of the tunnel. As his thoughts turned to Sara, he felt a pang of regret. The memory of their last face to face meeting played in his mind

_He knew that something was wrong. Sara hadn't been herself since the Weatherly Adams case. Though Sara hadn't been involved in the case directly, her partner, Ronnie Lake, had been and had nearly been killed. He had just started noticing how quiet she had become, how she hardly ever laughed anymore, when Greg had told him of a disturbin__g conversation he had with Sara during the course of the Weatherly Adams investigation._

_"I think I'm tired of having my face shoved in death every day," she said to Greg. _

_Greg warne__d Grissom that Sara was unhappy__, but Grissom just waved the young CSI off. Surely he, above all other people in the lab, would know if Sara was __slipping. After all, they had been living t__ogether for the past year and she had just accepted his proposal of marriage not even a month before. She would tell him if something was wrong. Of course, she would._

_His convictions were thrown into doubt when another serial killer struck the Vegas area. He had been working a crime scene with Sara for the first time in months and when she asked Doc Robbins about the victims the killer chose and learned tha__t they were completely __rando__. S__he __dropped the evidence she was processing and stormed out of the house. Grissom__ followed her and watched as she fought back tears and then walked away from him. The urge to go after her had been strong, but he had a job to do and he just shook it off as residual emotion from her kidnapping. He would talk to her when they got home. Except, he never went home that night. It was off to New York with him to help Jack Malone solve the case. When he got back to Las Vegas a few days later, he noticed that she was even more reclusive than she had been when he left. He started to worry, but, again, shook it off, still convinced that Sara would tell him if something was seriously wrong._

_Then, everything changed. __Kira__ Dillinger, a freshman in college, turned up dead in front of her dorm. At first glance, it appeared she had jumped, but further investigation revealed that she had most likely been pushed. Evidence collected in the victim's dorm led back to a suspect that everyone at the crime lab had hoped to never see again, Marlin West…and subsequently, his sister, Hannah, the child prodigy. __Sara and Nick worked the case two years before that had involved the siblings and the two CSI's had been manipulated by Hannah. Sara, Grissom knew, never quite forgot the deviant prodigy. __Against his better judgment, Grissom let Sara take the__ new__ case, __thogh__ he watched her carefully__ from the sidelines as she put the evidence together.__ He had promised her that he wouldn't interfere, but when he saw the effect that Hannah had on her and the way that Sara lost her temper with the girl, he confronted her._

_"I'm worried about you," he told her, hoping she would hear the concern in his voice and let him help her._

_"That just makes this worse," she said backing away from him. "I can't talk about this right now. I just…I can't."_

_And she walked away__ leaving him to wonder what he had done by giving her the case. Suddenly Greg's concerns didn't seem so farfetched._

_Grissom continued to watch Sara, though he didn't confront her again for fear of upsetting her. Convinced that Marlin had loved __Kira__ Sara__ eventually concluded that it was Hannah__ who had kille__d the girl. __The problem?__ Sara couldn't prove it. Hannah had, again, outsmarted Sara and the cri__me lab tho__ugh it cost Hannah her brother, who hung himself in his jail cell. Sara was the one who delivered the news to the child prodigy. Grissom knew that she would need to talk about it when they got home that night and he had prepared himself for it. Nothing, however, could prepare him for what was about to happen_

_He__ was standing by the Trace lab talking to Hodges about the test results from the case he was working__ when he noticed her walking down the hallway. His heart nearly broke when he looked into her face and saw how much pain she was in. She stopped in front of him and he was about to ask her what was wrong when she did something she had vowed never to do. She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, in the middle of the lab. He returned her affections, though he wondered why she was breaking her own rules._

_When she pulled away, confusion washed over him and he looked to her for an explanation, but she was already gone. He watched her walk away, wondering what was going on. When she disappeared around a corner, he shook his head and tried to pay attention to what Hodges was trying to tell him, but after five minutes, he gave up. Her actions had left him reeling._

_He wandered around the lab, checking to see where she had gone. He knew something was wrong and the envelope that Judy handed him did nothing to assuage his __surety that something big was about to happen. He took the envelope to an empty room and opened it, revealing a letter written in Sara's hand. A sense of foreboding washed over him as he began to read._

_Gil,_

_You know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever._

_Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. Truth be told, I'm tired._

_Out in the desert, under that car that night, I realized something and I haven't been about to shake it._

_Since my father died, I spent almost my entire life with ghosts. We've been like close friends and out there in the __desert,__ it occurred to me, that it was time for me to bury them. I can't do that here._

_I'm so sorry._

_No matter how hard I try to fight it off, I'm left with the feeling that, I have to go. I have no idea where I'm going, but I know I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll self-destruct, and worse, you'll be there to see it happen. Be safe._

_Know that I tr__i__ed very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only. I will miss you with every beat of my heart. Our life together was the only home I've ever really had. I wouldn't trade it for anything._

_I love you…I always will._

_Goodbye._

Brass stopped suddenly, forcing Grissom to bring himself back to the present. Grissom looked around to see what had caused them to stop and saw that Brass was inspecting a metal gate that was set into the wall of the tunnel. Brass tried to open the gate, but it was locked. Looking past the gate, Grissom could see that a room had been dug out and lined with concrete blocks. The room looked vaguely familiar. Grissom racked his brain, wondering where he had seen it before. He looked around the room and saw that the floor was plain brown dirt. Nothing exciting there…except…. a dark patch in the middle of room. Suddenly, Grissom knew where he had seen the room before.

"This is where he held them, Jim," he whispered. It was the first time anyone had spoken since they entered the passageway. The group stood staring into the small room, each wondering what horrors Grissom's team had been forced to endure while in captivity and each wondering what horrors Sara was still enduring. They stood there for a few minutes, memorizing what the prison looked like and then continued on. Grissom let his mind wander again, hoping that something significant would come to him.

He was so lost in thought that he never even heard the gun.

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Do you hate me yet? hehe. R&R, please! It makes my sad pathetic little day. hehe


	7. Face To Face

Sorry the update took so long. I've been uber busy with finals and everything. The next chapter should be up within a week or so. :) Enjoy!

PS. I don't own CSI. dramatic sigh

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Pain.

That was the first thing Grissom noticed as he slowly regained conscious. The second thing he noticed was that he was going to be sick. He groaned as a wave of nausea washed over him and just managed to flip over in time to avoid throwing up all over himself. When he finally stopped heaving, he opened his eyes and took stock of his situation.

His best description was a small square jail cell. The floor Grissom was laying on was made of concrete and, instead of walls, he could see iron bars all around him. It was cold in the cell; his fingers were starting to go numb. He thought maybe he could warm up a bit if he sat up, but another wave of nausea rolled over him when he tried, forcing him back down onto his stomach. He raised a hand to his head and suddenly found the reason he was in so much pain. He had a large gash in his forehead that was bleeding profusely. He could the warm sticky substance pouring down his throbbing head. He groaned, closed his eyes, and fought the urge to throw up again.

After a few minutes, Grissom heard the grate of metal against metal and then footsteps. He felt someone grab his arms and then drag him across the floor. A few seconds later he was forced onto his back and hoisted into a sitting position with his back against the bars of his cell. He took several deep breaths and then slowly opened his eyes. The sneering face of Joseph Reichman greeted him.

"Hello, Gil. It's been a long time."

Grissom blinked several times, trying to clear his head enough to talk intelligibly with Reichman. "'Absence makes the heart grow fonder', Joseph, though, forgive me, I do not believe that this particular quote applies in the current situation.

Reichman's smile faltered slightly, but then he laughed. "Still spouting out old quotes, I see. You haven't changed in the slightest, Gil."

Grissom felt annoyance flare up in him. "Maybe not in habit, Joseph, but habits only tell a partial story. I've changed a great deal since we last met."

Reichman shrugged. "Doesn't matter, Gil," he said flippantly. "I still knew exactly how to lure you out of the lab, didn't I? I was still able to kidnap you. Doesn't matter how much you've changed. You're still the same enough that I could predict your actions. That's what counts here." Reichman rubbed his hands together expectantly. "But enough of this! Why don't you go ahead and ask me the questions you're dying to have answered. Go ahead. I can't guarantee you that I will answer, but, please, feel free to ask me anything."

Grissom seethed, but didn't see the point in arguing with Reichman anymore

"Fine," he said resignedly. "Where am I? What did you do with Jim and the other guys that were with me in that tunnel? Why did you kidnap me? For that matter, why did you kidnap my team? Where is Sara? Why didn't you release her along with the others? What is the point of all this, Joseph?"

Reichman's smile widened as he listened. "All excellent questions, Gil. They will all be answered in due course, but I think only a few for now. Why did I kidnap your team? That's an easy one. To get to you. I knew that you wouldn't rest until you had found all of them. That also brings me to one of the reasons I didn't release Sara Sidle with the rest of them. She was the way to you. I knew that if she was still missing, you would continue to look and you would do whatever it took to find her. I was right. As for where Sara is right now, she's still alive and that's all you need to know, though, make the wrong move here and that could all change very quickly. Now, on to dear Captain Brass and the five uniforms you dragged down into my tunnel. They're dead. I shot them because they were a liability. They knew too much."

Grissom felt numb with shock. "Brass is…dead?"

He couldn't fathom that Brass was dead. Brass had been one of his greatest friends for longer than Grissom could remember. They trusted each other unconditionally. Grissom even had power of attorney over Brass, which he had had to exercise a few years before. Brass had been shot in the line of duty and it had fallen to Grissom to decide whether or not the doctors would perform the risky surgery that would save Brass's life. It had been one of the hardest decisions Grissom had ever made, but in the end he had given his consent and Brass had survived. It was all water under the bridge now though. Brass was dead. Grissom was not a man given to tears and he held true to that now, but the urge was nearly overwhelming.

Reichman's deep voice penetrated Grissom's thoughts. "Yes, Brass is dead. And now nobody knows that you're gone." There was glee in Reichman's voice. Grissom felt like he was going to be sick again and clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting back the urge. Reichman smiled wickedly.

"Enough talk!" he said, rubbing his hands together again. "I have a surprise for you, Gil, but first, I'm going to have to tie you up. Don't try to resist. That would be bad news for Miss Sidle. "

Reichman exited the cell momentarily and then returned carrying a long rope and a knife, the same knife he had been holding against Sara's neck in the photograph. He cut a long section of rope off and tied Grissom's hands and feet to the bars of the cell. Reichman worked methodically, checking and rechecking his work, leaving no room for doubt. When he was finished, he smirked at Grissom, who was sitting against the bars of the cell listlessly, and walked out of the room.

Grissom sighed wearily once Reichman was gone. His head was still throbbing painfully, such that he couldn't think straight. He sat there fighting the pain until he heard the door to his cell open again. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked several times, not believing what he was seeing.

Reichman was standing in the center of Grissom's cell with a naked, shivering Sara lying at his feet. She looked much the same as she had in the last photograph Grissom had received of her, but if he hadn't known better and he hadn't seen the tremors that were racking her body, he would have thought she was a corpse. She was pale as death underneath the bruises and cuts covering her body. Hot anger coursed through him as he watched Sara shiver. Reichman cackled wickedly again.

"Make you angry, Gil?" Reichman getting down on his knees next to Sara. "Make you want to break free? Try it. I dare you. See how long your little Sara lasts."

Reichman's words cut through Grissom more effectively than any knife as Grissom struggled with his anger. He couldn't take his eyes off Sara. The bruises on her face looked so dark against her pale skin and the cuts that were visible on her arms and legs looked like the deepest, crimson red. Grissom's heart broke as he looked at her and watched her tremble. It took every bit of will he possessed not to break his bonds and rush to her side. Reichman watched Grissom's struggle and smiled gleefully again.

"Look at you, Gil. You're pathetic. You don't even have the guts to fight for your girlfriend." Reichman took the knife out of his pocket and pressed the flat of the blade against Sara's neck. Sara began to shiver even more violently and Grissom heard her moan softly. He could practically taste his anger. Reichman moved the flat of the blade slowly down Sara's body, grinning maniacally. Sara moaned again. Grissom could barely stand it anymore.

"I believe," Reichman said suddenly, still running the knife over Sara's body. "That you wanted to know what the point of all this was." Reichman glanced up at Grissom. Grissom didn't trust himself to speak and said nothing. "The point…is revenge."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Revenge for what?"

Reichman's eyes flashed, his smile suddenly gone. He turned the knife slightly and Grissom saw a new red line appear on Sara's thigh. He heard her moan again, her voice laced with pain.

"Don't play dumb with me, Gil," Reichmans spat. "You disgraced me, fifteen years ago. I lost my job, my wife, my future…everything. And it was all because of you. You and your stupid meddling. Why couldn't you just leave it alone, Gil?"

Grissom felt his anger pulsing. "You killed three people, Joseph!" Grissom exclaimed. "I'm an investigator. What did you expect me to do? Ignore the evidence? The evidence never lies, Joseph. I did what I had to do."

To Grissom's complete surprise, Reichman smiled. "You're right, Gil," he whispered. "And so have I."

Before Grissom could even think, Reichman raised the knife and plunged it into Sara's side.

His horrified scream mixed with Sara's pained one and reverberated around the small cell. Reichman turned to Gil and raised the knife as though he was going to stab Grissom, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, Reichman smiled slowly and looked down at Sara. A pool of blood was starting to form around her. Grissom could feel the tears falling down his face.

"I give her about an hour," Reichman said, nodding. "I was going to stab you too, but I think this will be more painful. How does it feel, Gil, watching her die? Knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it?"

And with a cruel laugh, Reichman turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

Another cliffie. sigh...You're all gonna hate me by the end of this. 


	8. Too Much To Bare

**A/N:** As always, I do not own CSI or anything related to it. I only wish I did. Also, I know we're switching gears here a little bit, but I think it's for the better. Don't worry, we'll get back to Grissom and Sara perhaps as early as next chapter.

Also, I'd like to direct everyone's attention to my newest story, No Limit To Infinity (just click on my author name for the story). It's a story I'm co-writing with my dear friend, holadios, and is a CSI/House crossover. You don't need to have seen House before to understand the plotline. The plot takes place just after Nesting Dolls and before Grave Danger. So after Sara's talk with Grissom and before Nicky is kidnapped. Check it out, leave a review, and make my sad pathetic day a little brighter:D

* * *

Greg Sanders opened his eyes and shot straight up in his bed. 

"Catherine!" he yelled. "Sara!"

He looked around wildly trying to find Reichman and Catherine. So much blood...Catherine was going to die if Greg didn't find a way to get Reichman off of her soon.

"Catherine! Sara!"

Greg heard a door bang open to his right and he flinched as a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down. Greg fought against those hands, still not comprehending where he was.

"Mr. Sanders!" said a female voice."Calm down! It's ok. Everything is fine. You're in the hospital."

Greg stopped fighting and took in his surroundings. His cheeks flushed red. He turned to the nurse who was standing next to him with her hands on her hips, a small smile on her face.

"What happened?" he asked her. "Where are Nick, Catherine, Warrick, and Sara? Who found us? Did they catch Reichman? What's going on? Why–"

"Mr. Sanders –"

"Greg," he said. "Mr. Sanders makes me feel old."

The nurse smiled. "Okay," she said. "Greg, I'm going to go fetch someone who can answer your questions, but promise me that you'll remain in that bed and that you'll remain calm."

"I promise."

The nurse smiled again and started to walk away.

"Wait!" Greg said. She turned back to him. "I didn't catch your name."

"Lisa," she said. "Lisa Cudrow."

Greg nodded and lay back on his pillows again as she exited the room. It was about five minutes later when the door opened again. Greg's eyebrows shot up.

"Ecklie?" he asked in surprise.

The assistant lab director pulled up a chair and sat down next to Greg's bed. "Good afternoon, Sanders," Ecklie said. "How are you feeling?"

Greg frowned. "I've been better," he said carefully.

Ecklie smiled tightly. "The nurse said you had some questions."

Greg nodded. "How are the others doing?"

Ecklie sat back in the chair and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Brown is still in surgery. They're removing a bullet from his right thigh, but they think he's going to be fine. Stokes is stable. He was stabbed three times in the shoulder, but the injuries are non-life threatening. Willows…she's stable, but she's got a long road ahead of her. The injuries she sustained were very severe."

Greg nodded. "What about Sara?" he asked.

Ecklie looked away, speaking to Greg's sheets. "Miss Sidle is…erm…we,uh..didn't find her."

Greg's mouth fell open. "What?! What do you mean you didn't find her?"

Ecklie sighed. "She wasn't in the house with the rest of you," he said. "There was a letter and a photograph in the room where she should have been. Grissom and Brass inspected the room further and found a tunnel leading out of the room. They're inspecting it as we speak."

Greg stared at Ecklie as Ecklie continued to stare down at Greg's sheets. They both jumped when Ecklie's cell phone rang.

"Ecklie."

Greg watched Ecklie anxiously. The assistant lab director listened to the person on the other end, his face grim. As Greg watched, Ecklie's expression grew more and more sour and his eyes wider and wider. Greg felt dread flood his stomach.

"I'll be there soon," Ecklie said and shut the phone. He turned to look at Greg.

"What happened?" Greg asked.

Ecklie sighed again. "Grissom is missing," he said grimly. "And Brass has been shot. He's en route to the hospital."

Greg's head began to throb and he noticed, for the first time, the bandage circling his head. He blinked. "Brass…Grissom…what happened?"

"Reichman," Ecklie said simply.

Greg pushed his sheets off of him and stood up, taking care to keep the back of his hospital gown closed. His head throbbed again.

"Where are my release papers?" Greg asked. "I want out of here. I'm fine. I want to help."

Ecklie was already shaking his head. "No, Sanders," he said sharply, moving to block the door. "You need to stay here and get your rest. You've been through a terrible–"

Greg folded his arms across his chest and glared at Ecklie, ignoring the pain. "I'm leaving, Ecklie," he said angrily. "You can either help me, and get my release papers from the nurse and find me something to wear, or you can get out of my way. Either way, I'm going."

Ecklie glared at Greg for a moment. "Fine," he said. "Just stay here until I get the nurse, but just for the record, I don't think this is a good idea."

Greg glared at Ecklie until Ecklie sauntered out to fetch the nurse. Greg sat down on the edge of the bed thinking hard. Fifteen minutes later he was dressed in scrubs and headed out the door. Ecklie had volunteered to drive Greg back to the lab and Greg had gratefully accepted.

When they arrived at the lab, the lab techs and the CSI's who were still working the Reichman case stared as he passed. He ignored them and headed into the locker room to change clothes. Once he was dressed, he searched for his CSI vest for a while before he remembered that he had been wearing it when he was kidnapped. That was when the realization of what had happened came crashing down on him. Greg sat down on the bench in the center of the room and put his head in his hands. The fear he had felt and the horror of not knowing…it was enough to drive him crazy. He sat there for a long time, trying to regain control. He thought of Catherine and the last image he had seen of her face before he had been knocked unconscious; Warrick and the awful bloodcurdling scream when he had been shot; Nick and his cries as he was relentlessly stabbed; and Sara…oh dear God, Sara! He had heard her pleading with Reichman time and time again as Reichman violated her. Rage coursed through him as the memories assaulted him and tears began to fall earnestly down his face. That was how Wendy found him ten minutes later.

"Greg?" she said softly. He did not reply, but sat on the bench, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Wendy approached hesitantly and then sat down next to him. She put a tentative hand on his shoulder and, when he did not protest, slid her arm around him. He leaned into her and she put her other arm around him. He buried his face into her shoulder.

"Shhh," she said soothingly. "It's okay. Everything will be alright."

Greg, still crying, pulled his face out of Wendy's shoulder and she made to let go of him, but he shook his head violently.

"Don't," he said through his tears, putting his arms around her. "I need you."

Wendy put her arms back around him and just held him for a while. After a while, he calmed down somewhat and she pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. She could see how much pain he was in.

"Now," she said gently. "What's wrong?"

Greg sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Her screams," he whispered brokenly. "That's all I can hear. When I walk, when I close my eyes, when I turn a corner. Her desperate pleas for mercy, her cries…" He began to cry in earnest again. Wendy pulled him to her again.

"Who's cries, Greg?"

"Hers," he said through his sobs. "Sara's."

Wendy inhaled sharply. "Sara's?" she asked, shocked. "What did he do to her? What did that bastard do?"

Greg was sobbing harder than he had ever sobbed in his life. "He..he violated her," he said, his words almost incomprehensible through his crying. "Over and over again. I was blindfolded, so I couldn't see it, but her screams…her god-awful, bloodcurdling screams. I'll never forget them as long as I live. And I saw her before he knocked me out. She's covered in cuts and bruises and her eyes…I've never seen so much pain and desperation. He tortured her, Wendy, and I couldn't do anything to stop him." Greg looked up at her and she saw the hatred and the anger in his face. "I hate him!" he shouted. "I want him to die! I want to kill him!"

Greg lapsed back into sobs and Wendy hugged him to her tighter and rocked him back and forth like a child. She had never seen him lose control before and it scared her to see him like this. He was always so strong and so lighthearted. He could always find the humor in any situation. But Reichman had changed something in Greg Sanders and it broke Wendy's heart to see him now.

It took a long time, but Greg eventually stopped sobbing. When he was calm enough to speak, Wendy lifted his chin with her fingers and looked into his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment before she spoke.

"Look," she said softly. "I know you're hurting right now. I know you feel like all of this is your fault. But…I need you to put your feelings aside for a little while and do your job. Sara and Grissom are still missing and I think you're the only one who has even half a chance of finding them. Can you do that Greg? Can you help us find them?"

Greg swallowed hard and wiped the last tears from his face and looked into her eyes, a new fire blazing there. "I'll do whatever it takes to find them," he said, a new strength flooding his voice.

"Good," she said, giving him a quick hug and, to his complete surprise, a peck on the cheek. "Now come with me." Wendy stood and took his hand and led him out of the locker room and down the hall towards the trace lab.


	9. Hope, Of Sorts

A/N: As always, I do not own CSI or any related characters, things, or dialogue. Tis sad.

Again, I'd like to direct everyone's attention to my newest story, No Limit To Infinity (just click on my author name for the story). It's a story I'm co-writing with my dear friend, holadios, and is a CSI/House crossover. You don't need to have seen House before to understand the plotline. The plot takes place just after Nesting Dolls and before Grave Danger. So after Sara's talk with Grissom and before Nicky is kidnapped. Check it out, leave a review, and make my sad pathetic day a little brighter:D

* * *

"Sara…"

She jerked slightly at the sound of her name and cried out in pain as the wound in her side protested viciously at the sudden movement. She felt a wayward tear slip down her cheek and groaned as the cuts on her face burned and stung. She lay there, wishing the pain in her body would stop, wishing that she could get away, wishing that she could see Grissom one last time…

"Sara!"

Sara's eyes fluttered open and she looked blearily around to see where she was. Her first thought was a prison cell, but that couldn't be right. Prison cells were never this dark and, she hadn't, as far as she knew, done anything to deserve a stint in the pen. She looked around some more, taking in the cell. That's when she noticed him, tied to the bars of the cell.

"Gil?" she asked, disbelieving. "What are you doing here? Where's…where's Reichman?"

"Never mind that now," he said hurriedly. "I'm not sure how much time we have. Sara, I need your help."

She looked up at him and frowned. She knew she wasn't in any shape to help anyone. She could feel the blood pouring down her side and onto the floor and the pain….it was almost more than she could bear. She looked up at Grissom, doubt clouding her voice.

"I…I'm not sure I can," she said weakly. "My side…" A few more tears trickled down her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Grissom blew out his breath and looked up at the ceiling and then back at Sara. "Sara…please. Please hang on. I'm going to get us out of here. I need help though. I can't get this rope untied."

Sara winced at the desperation in his voice. Looking up at him, she could see the pain and the helplessness etched in his face. She steeled her resolve and then carefully pushed herself up on her elbows, biting her tongue to keep from screaming when pain erupted from the gash in her side. She bit her tongue harder and pushed herself into a crawling position. Blood dripped from her side down to the ground. She was panting by the time she had raised herself up enough to begin inching her way towards Grissom. She slowly made her way to him, pausing every now and then to gather her strength. She saw Grissom's mouth moving, but was so focused on reaching him that she couldn't make out what he was saying. When she finally reached him, she was exhausted. A trail of blood marked her progress and the wounds covering her body screamed in protest of every tiny movement she made. She bit her tongue again, tasting blood, and reached to untie Grissom's hands. Her hands trembled as she worked on the knot, but after five minutes she managed to loosen the bindings enough so that he could slip his wrists free of the rope. She dimly saw him reach for the rope around his ankles and then collapsed in a heap at his feet. She was barely conscious.

Grissom worked desperately to free his feet from the ropes. Reichman had done a good job tying him up, but he finally managed to loosen the knot and pull his feet free. He immediately turned to Sara and began to asses her injuries. They were extensive, but none of them, save the stab wound to her side, seemed to be life threatening. Grissom removed his shirt and began to tear it into long, thin strips. He gently rolled Sara over and dressed the wound as best he could. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"Sara?" he asked softly. "Sara, can you hear me?"

Sara whimpered and opened her eyes a fraction. Grissom choked back a sob that had suddenly risen in his throat.

"Sara, I'll be right back," he said thickly. "I have to see how to get out of this place. I'll be right back. Just hang on, honey. Just hang on."

Sara nodded slightly and closed her eyes again. Grissom bit his lip, swallowed his tears, and looked around. Reichman had not bothered to close the door and Grissom headed out of it. When he exited the cell he found himself standing in a large, hollow cave. He glanced around the room looking for a way out and saw a set of stairs opposite him leading up and out. Grissom continued to look around and saw a pile of what looked like clothes off to his right. He walked over to inspect the pile and found his CSI vest and holster as well as Sara's clothes and both their cell phones. He put the vest and the holster on, shoved both phones into his pocket, and grabbed the rest of the pile and ducked back into the cell. He rushed to Sara's side.

"Sara, I found the way out!" he said excitedly. He knelt down next to Sara's prone form and pushed her hair off her face. "Sara!" He shook her gently. "Sara?" Grissom slid his arm under her shoulders and lifted her up. Her head lolled to the side. "Sara…" A tear trickled down his cheek. "Sara, please… Don't do this. Please, Sara… please, don't do this." His trembling hands found the spot on her neck and checked for her pulse. He found it, but just barely. "Oh, God…hang on, Sara. Please hang on. I'm going to get us out of here. Just hang on, Sara."

Hurrying as fast as he could, Grissom slid Sara's pants and shirt onto her, thinking that she would be more protected from the elements when they got out of the cell. Once she was dressed, Grissom pulled one of the cell phones out of his pocket. It was his, but the display showed no signal. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. He slid his arm under Sara's knees and shoulders and lifted her off of the ground. He began to make his way out of the cell and across the room, being as gentle as he possibly could. He climbed the stairs out of the cave and found himself standing at the entrance to an old mine shaft. He maneuvered carefully over the rock strewn ground and out of the mine shaft. He was panting by then and he gently laid Sara down on the ground and sat down next to her and looked around.

It was late afternoon and the sun was sinking slowly towards the horizon. Grissom wiped his brow with the back of his hand and pulled Sara's cell phone out of his pocket. It was barely charged, but he was getting a very weak signal. Thinking fast, he tried to decide who to call. He dialed Ecklie's cell, praying that the assistant lab director's phone was on. He was gratified when he heard a choppy ringing in his ear. Three rings later, Ecklie picked up.

"E…lie."

"Ecklie, this is Grissom. Can you hear me?"

"Gri…om? Whe… you? Is Sid…th you?"

"Ecklie? Ecklie? You're breaking up. I can't understand you."

"…som, San…out of th…spital. …eg is wor…ur ca…"

At that the signal was lost and Grissom nearly threw the phone in frustration. Sitting down next to Sara's unconscious form, he tried to decide what the best move would be. Looking down at Sara, he noticed that blood was starting to soak through her shirt.

"Damn it!" he said, kicking at a rock.

"What are we going to do, Sara?" he whispered. "What are we going to do?"

* * *

Please R&R! It makes the cold wintry days that much warmer. ;)


	10. Tracing To The Finish Line

So here is chapter 10! I went back to Greg in this chapter, but we have some pretty major developements here. As always, thank you for reading and I'm a sucker for reviews.

PS. I most unfortunately do not own CSI.

* * *

Greg followed Wendy down the hall to the trace lab. She was still holding his hand and, in the back of his mind, this registered as a definite step in the right direction. He did not have time to dwell on it, however, because she let go of his hand the moment they stepped into the trace lab. Hodges was bent over a microscope with his back to them. Wendy cleared her throat and Hodges straightened up and looked around. His eyes widened when he saw Greg.

"Sanders!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in the hospital."

Greg blinked. "I was released a couple of hours ago," he said. "Ecklie gave me a lift back to the lab about an hour and half ago."

Hodges nodded and then glanced at Wendy and then back at Greg. "What brings you two here?"

Wendy stepped forward. "I need to know about the trace from Captain Brass's jacket," she said without preamble. "I think its transfer from where Reichman touched him and I want to know what part of the desert it came from."

Hodges squinted up at her. "I haven't finished processing it yet."

"What? What do you mean you haven't finished processing it yet? I sent it to you nearly an hour ago. Top priority."

Hodges folded his arms across his chest. "I know that," he said testily. "But I've got other things on my plate as well. There's the trace from the vests and then the tape lifts Kohler sent over from the room Sara was supposed to be in. I've got a lot on my plate right now, Wendy. I can't just move your stuff to the top of the pile, just because it's your stuff."

Wendy balled her fists up and advanced on Hodges like an angry cat stalking a mouse. He backed away and ran into the counter, breaking an empty test tube in the process.

"Grissom is missing, you idiot!" she shouted at him. "That trace is our only link to Reichman, Grissom, and Sara. We know where he held the team before he put them in the house, but we don't where he's holding Grissom and Sara right now. It's quite possible that he went to that location before he kidnapped Grissom. That trace from Brass's jacket is the key to finding them!"

Hodges looked at her with his mouth hanging open. He stuttered around for a minute and then muttered that he would "get right to it" and scurried off to the other side of the room to begin processing.

Greg was staring at Wendy in awe. She took a deep breath and then turned to him. He recoiled slightly and Wendy grinned sheepishly.

"Sometimes you have to put people in their place," she said, shrugging. Greg smiled tightly, but didn't reply. Wendy sat down next to him.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked after a minute.

Greg looked down at his hands. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I mean, I want to help you guys find them more than anything, but…"

"You're scared," she finished for him. He nodded and she put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to be scared, Greg. I would be, too if I was in your position. But you just gotta keep going. If you stop and look around you at the horror you're facing, then it will overwhelm you. Keep your chin up and keep your eyes on the task at hand. You'll be all right, Greg," she said leaning over and kissing his cheek again.

Greg looked into her eyes and felt an odd sense of serenity flood through him. He found himself nodding and Wendy smiled. Neither noticed Hodges standing motionless behind them, glaring at them. Wendy took Greg's hand.

"Come on," she said, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go see if there's anything in the break room. You look like you could use some food."

Greg smiled appreciatively again and followed her to the break room. After raiding the refrigerator and finding nothing worth eating, they called and ordered takeout. They laughed and talked for the better part of an hour while they waited for the trace results to come back from Hodges. Wendy watched Greg carefully as he animatedly told her a story about a crime scene involving the mob, a dumpster, and a large amount of blood and marinara sauce. Though he was laughing and talking like nothing had ever happened, Wendy could see that what Reichman had done to him and the others was affecting him greatly. He would never have admitted it to her, but she could tell he was still scared out of his mind. He was hiding it well, but Wendy had always had the gift of being able to read people and Greg was like an open book to her. She had to fight the impulse to grab him and just hold him several times. Finally, after what seemed like a year, Greg's cell phone began to vibrate. He picked it up, read the text message, and beckoned at Wendy.

When they arrived at the trace lab, Hodges was standing there waiting for them with his arms crossed over his chest and a piece of paper in his hand.

"What did you find out?" Greg asked, full of trepidation. Wendy touched his arm lightly, reassuring him. Hodges glared at the two, but didn't say anything. "Well?" Greg said impatiently, fear flooding him.

Hodges sighed. "The trace from Captain Brass's jacket is a kind of desert plant that only grows in the western desert about 30 miles outside of Vegas.. There were also traces of gold and cyanide," he said. "My best guess is that Reichman is holding them somewhere to the west in an abandoned mine."

Greg's face fell. There had to be hundreds of mines to the west of Las Vegas and even if they limited the search to within 30 miles of Vegas, they were still looking at a huge search. Greg ran his fingers through his hair and turned to go, but Hodges called out as he was going through the door.

"Hang on, Sanders," he said. Greg turned back to face the trace analyst. "I also found some black tri-lobal fibers. I'm running them through the database right now. We should have possible matches soon."

Greg felt hope flood him again. Tri-lobal fibers were only found in the interiors of cars. It was possible that if they could ID Reichman's car they might be able to locate it and bring him in. Greg thanked Hodges, glanced at Wendy who smiled, and then raced out the door and began to head towards Ecklie's office. He was robbed of the necessity, however, when Ecklie stepped out of the AV and ran right into Greg.

"Sanders," Ecklie said, surprised. "How are you feeling?"

"Never mind that now," Greg said impatiently. "I have some information for you."

"And I have some for you," Ecklie said. "Grissom contacted me about 10 minutes ago. He was on his cell. The signal was weak and I don't think he could hear me very well, but I managed to get a recording of the tail end of the conversation. I got lucky and just happened to be in the AV lab at the time. Archie hooked me up to a recorder the minute he realized who I was talking to. He's going over the tape now, trying to isolate anything that might help us figure out where Grissom and Sidle are."

Greg stared at the assistant lab director, lost for words. Ecklie smiled, perhaps the first true smile Greg had ever seen on the man's face. "Don't worry, Sanders," he said. "We're going to find them. I've got the entire lab on this. Now, didn't you say you had some information?"

Greg mentally shook himself and nodded. "The trace came back from Brass's jacket," he said. "Hodges found plant fibers from a plant that only grows in the western desert about 30 miles outside of Vegas. He also found black tri-lobal fibers which I suspect came from whatever car Reichman used to transport us from the crime scene where he kidnapped us to the holding cell."

Ecklie nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to reach a decision. "Sanders," he said looking at Greg with a resigned expression on his face. "I need you to tell me what happened down there."

Greg was already frantically shaking his head. "I…I can't," he said, his voice faltering. "I can't relive that again. It's…it's too…no."

Ecklie frowned. "Come with me, Sanders," he said, turning and walking down the hall. Greg had no choice, but to follow. As they traveled on, Greg felt a leaden weight drop into his stomach. They didn't stop until they reached Ecklie's office, where Ecklie motioned Greg in and ushered him into a chair. Ecklie himself rounded the desk and settled himself behind it, then sat looking at Greg appraisingly. Greg felt like a child who had been sent to the principal's office. He looked anywhere, but at Ecklie. Ecklie cleared his throat after a while and Greg looked up, filled with fear.

"Look, Greg," he said in a surprisingly soft voice. Greg was stunned at the use of his first name. "I know you've been through a horrible ordeal today. I can't even imagine what Reichman put you and the others through. I saw Catherine's face," he said, shuddering slightly. "And I saw the pictures of Sara."

Greg felt tears prickling in his eyes again and fought to maintain control. Ecklie's words were like salt in an open wound. Greg's head throbbed for the first time since he had been released from the hospital. Ecklie waited for a moment and then plowed on.

"I know that you're still hurting and I know that this isn't going to be easy, but I need to hear what happened, from beginning to end. Everything you can remember. It might help us find Grissom and Sara all that much faster. Please, Greg. Please do this. For Grissom and Sara."

Greg sat in silence and Ecklie waited for the young CSI to say something, anything. They sat in silence for nearly five minutes and Ecklie had just about given up hope when Greg suddenly lifted his head up, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"Ok," he said thickly. "Ok. I'll tell you." Greg took a shaky breath and Ecklie leaned forward. Greg opened his mouth to speak, but he never got anything out because, at that exact moment, Wendy burst into the room. Greg nearly sighed in relief as Ecklie turned to look at Wendy angrily.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said breathlessly. "But we've ID'ed the type of car that the fibers came from. It's a 1968 Chevy Camaro. The database also showed that most cars with the black interior were either red, blue, or white. Detective Curtis is putting out an APB and Hodges is doing a search in the database for '68 Camaro's registered in Las Vegas and Las Angeles."

Ecklie stood up. "I'll go and see how Hodges is doing," he said. As he walked out the door, Wendy pulled Greg into a hug.

"We're getting closer," she said, hope flooding her voice.

"Yea," he said, wearily. Wendy had her back to the door so she couldn't see down the hallway, but Greg could. He caught Ecklie's eye and saw that he wasn't out of the woods yet. Ecklie's look clearly said they were going to finish their conversation later.

Greg hugged Wendy to him closer and closed his eyes as the memory of a woman's scream echoed in his head. His head throbbed painfully as the screaming grew louder and Greg felt himself spiraling down. The last thing he remembered before the bliss of darkness overtook him was the jeering voice of Joseph Reichman, calling out through the darkness:

_Find them if you can…_

* * *

So there you have it! Please R&R! I would totally heart you if you did:D 


	11. The Desert

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! We are coming upon the final chapters, this is the beginning of the end. Thank you for reading and thank you for sticking with me!

As always, I do no own CSI.

* * *

"Sara!"

Grissom shook her gently, trying to make her wake up.

"Sara!" he said again, shaking her a little harder. "Sara, please wake up! Sara!"

Sara's eyelids moved slightly and Grissom felt his heart leap into his throat, but the next moment his hopes were dashed. Besides the slight twitch in her eyelids, she didn't move or wake up and Grissom sat down next to her in despair. He gathered her to him and closed his eyes. Despair was beginning to set in. He had been so hopeful when they escaped from the cell and came out of the mine. He thought that they would be okay once they were away from Reichman, but an hour of walking and carrying Sara around in the desert had not been encouraging. He was exhausted, thirsty, and worried. He knew that Sara was barely clinging to life. The thought of losing her was unbearable.

Grissom didn't not know how long he had been sitting there when he suddenly heard a voice behind him.

"Hello, Gil."

Anger flooded Grissom. Of all the voices in the world, the one he was hearing was the least welcome of all. Grissom opened his eyes and stood to find the jeering face of Joseph Reichman staring back at him. Grissom moved in front of Sara, shielding her from the murderer in front of him.

"What in the hell are you doing here, Reichman?" Grissom spat angrily. "Haven't you done enough damage for one day?"

Reichman sneered and pulled a gun from the holster at his side. He leveled the gun at Grissom's chest.

"Step away from Sara and put your gun on the ground." Reichman said menacingly. "Do it or I'll shoot. You can't help her if you're dead, Gil."

Grissom balled his fists up and glared at Reichman. "I'm not moving," Grissom said through clenched teeth. "I'm not giving you a clear shot and I'm certainly not giving you my gun."

Reichman's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't play games with me, Gil," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Step aside or you're both dead."

"Go to hell."

Grissom flinched as the shot rang out. He looked down at his body to see where the bullet had hit, but he saw nothing. Fear shot through him and he turned to look at Sara. There was a small divet in the dirt next to her head and Grissom stared at it blankly, barely able to process the sight. She had avoided death by mere inches. Grissom turned back to Reichman who had the gun leveled at him again.

"Put your gun down and step away from her." Grissom hesitated and Reichman cocked the gun. "Now!" he shouted.

Fighting to keep from trembling, Grissom un-holstered his gun and slowly laid it on the ground in front of him. Then he slowly moved away from Sara. He had gone about 10 feet when Reichman spoke.

"Stop."

Grissom halted and waited to see what Reichman would do. The gun was still trained on him and he could feel it boring a hole in him. It was like having a drill pressed to his body. He was very aware of his heartbeat and the fact that each valiant circulation of blood could well be his last. His mouth was dry and he suddenly wished had thought to bring water with them when they escaped.

Grissom watched as Reichman moved slowly forward until he was only feet from Grissom.

"Down on your knees," Reichman commanded. Grissom started to say no, but Reichman rammed the gun into Grissom's side. "Now." Grissom slowly lowered himself to his knees, feeling irrationally foolish. Reichman pressed the gun to the back of Grissom's head. Fear replaced the feeling of foolishness and Grissom found himself praying for a miracle.

Sara jerked as something hit the ground next to her head and showered her with sand. Her groggy mind struggled to process the accompanying sounds and she found herself wondering where in the world she was. She could feel the pain in her side and all over her body and the memories of what had taken place hit her with full force. She struggled to open her eyes, desperate to find out where she was. When she finally managed to open her eyes a fraction, she gasped.

Grissom was some ten feet away from her, kneeling in the sand. This, however, was not what caused her to gasp. Joseph Reichman was standing directly behind Grissom with a gun pressed to the latter's head. Sara felt fear and anger flood her. She struggled to hear what Reichman was saying. After a few minutes, she was finally able to make it out.

"For twenty years, I've been planning this moment."

Reichman was speaking softly, but his voice carried. He sounded calm, gleeful…giddy even. Sara felt revulsion well up in her. She lay still, listening with all of her might, prepared to do whatever was necessary to save Grissom.

"You ruined my life," Reichman was saying, the gun still pressed to Grissom's head. "You smeared my name, you took away the only job I ever wanted. Because of you, I was never able to work in law enforcement ever again. You shattered my dreams, Gilbert Grissom."

Grissom snorted derisively despite himself, causing Sara to cringe.

"I didn't ruin your life," Grissom said. "You did that yourself. When you killed our co-workers, you ruined any chance you ever had of having a successful career. You did what you did and you paid the price. I'm not sorry for that."

Sara held back a scream as Reichman kicked Grissom in the ribs. Grissom fell to the ground, clutching his side and grunting in agony.

"When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut, Gil?" Reichman asked, laughing as Grissom struggled to rise. Reichman aimed another kick at Grissom, this time catching him in the kidneys. Grissom fell back to the ground, breathing hard. Reichman laughed again and began to kick Grissom mercilessly. Sara struggled not to cry as she watched the man she loved take the abuse, knowing there was nothing she could do to help him. He did not scream or cry and Sara felt pride swell in her heart. He was truly the strongest man she knew.

After what felt like hours to Sara, Reichman finally stopped kicking Grissom, turning him over on his back so he was looking up. Reichman knelt down clutching the gun in his hand.

"You're pathetic, Gil," he said mockingly.

It was more than Sara could bear. She slowly struggled to get up, ignoring the pain shooting over inch of her body. Reichman's back was turned to her and he seemed to have forgotten that she was even there. As she struggled to her knees, she cast around for a weapon. Her eyes landed on Grissom's gun laying abandoned in the dirt and she slowly crawled toward it. Reichman was raising the gun.

"You ruined my life, Gil," Reichman said softly, aiming the gun right between Grissom's eyes.

Fighting exhaustion, Sara crawled resolutely towards Grissom's gun. She could feel the weakness pulling at her arms and legs and she could feel the wet sticky blood running down her side.

_Just a few more feet,_ she thought desperately._ Almost there…_

"You shattered my dreams…"

Sara wrapped her fingers around the gun's grip and tried to lift it. It was heavy in her arms and she struggled with it. Slowly, she leveled it at Reichman…

_Steady…steady…_

"For that, you must die…"

Reichman and Sara simultaneously cocked their guns. Sara was beginning to see spots…she was going to faint…

_Aim steady…_

She pulled the trigger and the gun bucked in her hand. Unable to hold on any longer, Sara fell to the ground and slipped into the waiting darkness.

* * *

Please R&R! 


	12. Failure Is Fatal

Only one or two more chapters left! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! You rock my socks!

AN: As always, I do not own CSI because if I did, Sara would still be on the show, Greg would get more airtime, and there would be a geek!baby in the mix!

* * *

Grissom closed his eyes and waited for the bullet to contact his skull. He knew that the end was near. It wasn't the first time he had had a gun pointed at his head, but it was the first time he knew that there was no chance of talking his way out death. He had been lucky a few times, but it seemed his luck had run out. He flinched when he heard the gunshot.

He felt something warm and wet spatter his face and felt the ringing in his ears from the sound of the gun. As he knelt there in the dirt and waited for the pain to come, a million thoughts filled his head.

_If this is dying,_ he thought absently. _Then it's not that bad…_

But then, as the ringing subsided and the pain did not present, he slowly opened his eyes. Shock rippled through him.

Reichman was lying in the dirt in front of him, blood pouring from a small round hole directly over his heart. Grissom stared in shock and then, as if on autopilot, crawled forward and felt Reichman's neck for a pulse. Finding none, Grissom shakily got to his feet and stared at Reichman's body a few more moments, his mind slowly working through the scene in front of him. Suddenly, he realized that Reichman must have been shot. Cursing inwardly for letting his guard down, Grissom spun on the spot and looked around wildly for the person who had taken Reichman down. That was when he saw her.

Blind panic swept through Grissom and, for the first time since Reichman had called him so many days before (or had it only been a day), the thought that Sara was not going to make it swept through his mind. He sprinted to her side and tried in vain to wake her.

"Sara?"he asked, shaking her desperately. "Sara…can you hear me?"

Sara did not respond, her head lulling limply to the side as Grissom shook her. Grissom could feel the panic and the fear building in him and struggled to keep his head about him. He had never known such awful fear in his life and the desperation with which he tried to wake Sara surprised even himself. He reached out a shaking hand towards Sara's neck and tried to still them long enough to find her pulse, but no matter what he did, his hands would not stop shaking. In desperation, he put his ear to her bloody chest and listened for the thud of her heart. Relief swept through him as the familiar lub-dub met his ears, weak though it was.

"Just hang on," he whispered to Sara, getting unsteadily to his feet and lifting her into his arms and taking a few unsteady steps. "It's going to be okay."

Grissom continued to talk to Sara as he walked, reassuring her, and himself, that everything was going to work out. As he walked, the sun continued to sink towards the horizon and Grissom could feel the exhaustion and weariness setting in his muscles. He could not remember a time when he had been so tired, so thristy, or so desperate.

After an hour of walking, the sun finally fell out of sight behind a distant mountain and from there, darkness came rapidly. It wasn't long before Grissom could no longer see Sara's head, resting limply on his shoulder. He continued to trudge on though, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. He did everything he could to keep his mind occupied while he walked, from doing multiplication problems, to reciting the scientific names of butterflies.

He recalled Sara telling him about her time in the desert after Natalie had kidnapped her. She had wandered for hours in the hot sun, piling rocks up to leave a trail, never stopping, never giving up. She had told him how she did multiplication out loud and talked herself into continuing on. Even then, desperately dehydrated, with a broken arm and a bleeding head wound, Sara had not given up and he would be damned if he was going to. He carried on, though his steps became slower and slower and his path more erratic. He carried on, ignoring the fatigue in his screaming muscles and the dryness in his mouth. He carried on, never stopping to think that maybe, just maybe, he couldn't do it. And even an hour later when the desert began to spin and he sank to his knees and lay down in the dirt, Sara spilling out of his arms like a rag doll, he did not let his mind stray in the direction of failure. For failure meant giving up and giving up…meant death. As he spiraled down in the blissful realms of unconsciousness, Grissom found himself thinking of the irony of a quote he had recently read: "Success isn't permanent, and failure isn't fatal." Smiling bemusedly, Grissom let out a single breath of laughter and the world faded into darkness.

* * *

Greg gasped as a shock of cold water hit his face. Sopping wet and sputtering, he wiped his eyes and looked around. 

He was lying on the floor of the bathroom at the lab. Wendy was there, kneeling down next to him, concern etched all over her face. Looking past her, he saw Hodges, Archie, Henry, Bobby, Mandy, and Ecklie standing around him in a small circle. Greg ran his hands through his soaked hair and sat up looking to Wendy for an explanation.

"You fainted," she said, her eyes wide. "I was hugging you and you just sort of collapsed against me. What happened, Greg?"

Greg looked down at the floor. "I don't want to talk about it." He could feel Wendy's eyes boring into him, but he had no intention of telling her the reason he had fainted, especially not with Ecklie in the room. Getting to his feet, Greg looked around at everyone.

"I'm fine," he said. "Let's get back to work. The sooner we find Grissom and Sara, the better."

He watched as they filed out, one by one, and waited until everyone, but Wendy was gone before running into the first available stall and throwing up. When he was finished he shakily wiped his mouth and came back out of the stall to find Wendy still standing there, fear and sympathy in her eyes.

"You going to be ok?" she asked, concern flooding her voice.

Greg nodded shakily and stopped in front of the sink and splashed some more water onto his face. In actuality, he felt terrible. His head was throbbing and he still felt sick, but he clamped down on the nausea and forced a shaky smile.

"Anything new crop up while I was napping?" he asked, trying to sound as if he were merely discussing the weather.

Wendy frowned, but didn't press him. "We may have found Reichman's car," she said. "A passing motorist spotted a blue Camaro, possibly a 1968, sitting off the highway about 20 miles outside of the city to the west. Sofia and some uniforms are headed out there now to find out for sure. Sofia said she would call you directly if she found anything. They should have arrived."

At that moment, Greg's cell phone rang. He jumped slightly at the sudden noise and, cursing under his breath, pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

"Sanders."

"Greg," said the female voice on the other end. "It's Sofia. We've confirmed it. It's a blue 1968 Camaro registered to Joseph H. Reichman. There are also some footprints leading away from the car into the desert."

Greg closed his eyes, relief coursing through him. They were almost there. "Good," Greg said into the phone. "You call Ecklie and tell him to get a team out there as quick as he can. I'm going to call in for a chopper and search from the air. I'll need your exact location."

She gave it to him and he wrote it down in the notebook he always carried with him.

"Thanks, Sofia," he said.

"We're going to find them, Greg," she said. Greg smiled and flipped his phone shut. He turned to Wendy.

"I take it they found his car?" she asked, grinning broadly.

"Yea," Greg said, thanking God that they were on the right track. "I'm going to go Search and Rescue and then get into the air as fast as I can. The sun is going to set soon and we need to get up there while it's still daylight. It's a lot harder to find things using heat sensors, especially in the desert, right after sunset."

Wendy nodded. "Can I come with you?"

Greg glanced at her, wondering if she had lost her mind. "You really want to come?"

She nodded and he smiled. "I could use the help," he said gratefully. Wendy walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"We're almost there, Greg," she whispered into his ear. "Just a little bit longer and we'll have them back."

He held her, hoping and praying that she was right.

* * *

Please, R&R! The more you do, the more I want to write! 


	13. As Dust In The Wind

**A/N:** This is the�penultimate chapter of this story (there is one more after this and an epilogue) and then I can start on something new! Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy the last few chapters. 

* * *

Greg braced himself as the chopper lifted off the ground. It had been half an hour since Sophia called and he was anxious to get out to the desert and search for Sara and Grissom. He glanced over at Wendy and she gave him the thumbs up. He smiled and then turned his attention to the desert. The sun was already sinking towards the horizon and he knew that they probably only had an hour or so before they ran out of daylight. As the chopper flew over the desert, Greg searched the ground carefully, hoping for any clue that might lead him to Grissom and Sara.

After about forty-five minutes of searching, the sun had sunk below the horizon and darkness was falling fast. Greg was just about to give up hope when he spotted something in the desert below him. He tapped the pilots shoulder.

"Put it down!" he shouted. "There's something down there. It looks like a person."

The pilot nodded once and swung the chopper around to the place Greg had indicated. Greg took another look out the window and felt fear curling in his stomach. The thing he had spotted was definitely human and it was most certainly dead. Trying to stay calm, Greg took a few deep breaths as the chopper touched down, spreading sand and dust everywhere. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Wendy very near him. She gave his shoulder a quick encouraging squeeze and he smiled tightly and then jumped down to the ground. 

With his hand resting gently on the butt of his gun, Greg approached the body cautiously, keeping his eyes open for possible assailants. Once he reached the body he turned it over and recoiled as the face of Joseph Reichman came into view. Greg shrank away from the body and hurried back to the helicopter.

"It's not either one of them," he shouted up at Wendy as she helped him back in. "It's Reichman."

Wendy's eyes widened in shock. "He's dead?" she asked in disbelief. "How?"

"Gunshot," was all Greg said. He was having an intense internal struggle. He had moved from the lab to the field in hopes that he would be able to give justice to the dead, but he didn't envy the one who would have investigate Reichman's death. If anyone had ever not deserved justice, it was that man.

Greg radioed back to Sofia and gave her the coordinates of Reichman's body and then told the pilot to keep going. As the chopper lifted off, Greg turned to the heat sensor in front of him and switched it on. The last rays of sunlight had finally disappeared, plunging the desert into total darkness. Though the land was still hot, Greg was determined.

They flew, on and on, always hoping. As the desert cooled, Greg began to see more and more definite shapes with his heat sensor, though there was nothing that looked even remotely like a human being. They had been flying and searching for almost two hours and Greg had just decided that maybe they needed to give up and wait until morning when he saw something at the corner of the monitor. He shouted to the pilot.

"Turn back to the west a little bit! I think I saw something!"

The pilot obeyed and Greg searched the monitor closely, hoping and praying that his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him. He waited, watching the screen as the helicopter turned and then gave a shout of joy. 

"There!" he shouted to the pilot. "Bring her down! Hurry!"

The pilot sat the chopper down and Greg and Wendy darted out of it. Looking around, Greg spotted a hand sticking out from behind a scrubby little bush and he rushed over to it. As he came around the bush, his heart nearly stopped.

"Call for help," he said to Wendy, who had gone deathly pale. She pulled her radio out as Greg rushed forward, to where Sara and Grissom lay. 

Greg went to Grissom first and felt his neck desperately for a pulse. It was weak and light, but definitely there and Greg felt relief rush through him. He took out his water bottle and poured a little on Grissom's face and in his mouth. He felt Wendy kneel down beside him and he looked over at her. 

"Stay with him while I check on Sara."

She nodded and Greg made his way over to Sara. As he knelt down next to her, he felt dread well up in his stomach. He reached a shaking hand for her neck, feeling for her pulse, but he didn't find one. Shaking all over he grabbed her wrist, but he still couldn't feel anything. Getting desperate, he put his ear to her blood soaked chest and listened for a moment, but it was nothing.

"Oh god," he whispered. "Come on, Sara. Don't do this to us. Come on."

As he spoke, Greg arranged Sara into a better position and started CPR, desperate to bring her back. He didn't know how long she had been unconscious or how long her heart had been stopped, but he refused to let himself believe that she wasn't going to be okay. Tears filled his eyes as he compressed her chest and breathed air into her lungs and he swallowed hard against them, but they fell anyway. He glanced over at Wendy once or twice to find her watching him, fear and sadness filling her eyes. The tears fell faster and he turned his attention back to Sara and continued to administer CPR. 

It seemed like it had been hours when the Medvac helicopters finally arrived and Greg was roughly pushed aside by the paramedics. He watched in horror as they shocked Sara, over and over again, trying to restart her heart. After ten minutes with no results, they stepped back and one gently closed Sara's eyes, pronouncing time of death as he did so. Greg felt grief welling up in him and he stumbled blindly forward as the paramedics moved away. Kneeling down in the dirt next to Sara, he placed a gentle hand on her bruised, and bloody forehead. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, tears falling from his cheeks and onto hers. "I'm sorry I didn't find you in time to save you. But I promise that I'll do everything I can to help Grissom. I'll look after him, Sara. I'm so sorry. I'll miss you."

Standing up he stumbled away from Sara's body and somehow managed to find Wendy. She was watching the paramedics as they worked on stabilizing Grissom and he put a hand on her shoulder. She immediately turned to him and pulled him into her arms. They watched the paramedics and helped them lift Grissom into the helicopter when the time came. The two helicopters took off as an ambulance, lights and sirens ablaze, came speeding towards them. Greg watched numbly as they loaded Sara's body into it and drove away. Grief washed over him as the ambulance sped away, taking Sara for that last long ride. Its lights and sirens were silent now, for there was no rush. She was gone, as dust in the wind.

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Please, R&R! I live for reviews! 


	14. And Birds Will Sing

**A/N:** So this is it. I combined the last chapter and the epilogue, so this is the end of this story. I hope you will find it satisfying and I thank everyone who has stuck with me through the whole of this story. :D I'd also like to point out that if you're a House MD fan, I've got two new fics up and just itching for reviews. nudge Thanks again!

The first thing he noticed was a slow steady beep. It was a sound he connected with sickness and uncertainty. It was something he associated with his mother and with Sara, though the two had never met and he couldn't quite figure out why he would ever link them. As he listened to the beep and puzzled over its significance, he was slowly able to discern other sounds beneath it. These sounds were lower and softer and gave him the mixed impression of relief and intense sadness. After a moment, he was able to identify them as voices. He listened for a while, trying to understand what they were saying.

"He's lucky," said one voice. "If you hadn't found him when you did…"

"Is he going to be alright?" asked another voice.

"I expect, that with time, Mr. Grissom will make a full recovery," said the first voice. "He has shown remarkable recovery even in the weeks since he arrived here."

"Why isn't he awake yet?" asked the other voice bitterly. Grissom finally recognized the voice and wrenched his eyes open to find Greg and a doctor in a white coat standing at the foot of his bed.

"I am awake," he rasped. Greg jumped at the sound of Grissom's voice and turned to look at the CSI supervisor in amazement. The doctor smiled.

"Welcome back, Mr. Grissom," he said, walking over and checking Grissom's monitors and medicines.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, clearing his throat. Greg ran to the small bathroom on the other side of the room and returned with a cup of water. Grissom drank gratefully and then turned back to the doctor. "How long, Doctor?"

The doctor frowned and looked down at the clipboard he was holding. "Almost three weeks," he said, watching Grissom carefully. Grissom frowned and looked at Greg.

"And how are the others?" he asked anxiously. "How is Sara?"

Greg exchanged a look with the doctor, which didn't go unnoticed by the Grissom, and then took a deep breath. "Catherine, Warrick, and Nick are all doing fine. Warrick and Nick were sent home two weeks ago. Catherine is still here, but she's doing very well and they're going to release her soon. Brass is also doing well."

"Brass?" Grissom gasped. "But…Reichman told me he was dead…"

"He's not," Greg said, smiling slightly. "He was hit by three bullets. Two of them hit his vest and knocked the wind out of him. The third one nicked the underside of his arm. He's just fine. He's been to see you a couple of times."

Grissom smiled in relief. "And what about Sara, Greg? How is she doing? When can I see her?"

Greg looked down at his hands and then back at Grissom, no longer smiling. "Grissom…" he began, but his voice faltered and he looked back down at his hands. Grissom watched as a tear rolled down Greg's cheek and his stomach plummeted and he felt dread fill his heart.

"Greg, where is she? Where's Sara?"

Greg sniffed and wiped his cheek with his hand. "She…she didn't make it, Grissom," said the young CSI in a choked voice. "I tried to bring her back, but I couldn't do it and then the paramedics tried, but they couldn't bring her back either and…she died, Grissom. Doc Robbins said that, in the end, the combination of blood loss and the abuse that her body had taken was just too much. Her heart just stopped beating."

Grissom stared at Greg, unable to comprehend what the other man was telling him. It was like his mind had come up with the absolute worst fantasy possible and turned it into reality. He looked at the doctor, hoping that this learned man would talk some sense into Greg, but he saw only pity and resignation in the doctor's eyes.

And, suddenly, it was as if a dam had burst inside of him. Grissom felt a sob tearing at his throat and, no matter how hard he swallowed against it, he could not hold it back. Tears poured down his face and he put his head in his hands, sobbing like a child.

"Why?" he sobbed, over and over again. "Why Sara? Why?"

Grissom had no knowledge of how long he had been sobbing when he felt someone slip their arms around his shoulders. Distantly he heard someone speaking, but the words were incomprehensible to his ears. There was only one thought that penetrated the grief raging through him: _Sara is gone…_

**EPILOGUE**

It was silent in the cemetery. Even the birds seemed to have abandoned their songs in respectful silence of the group now making their way across the green grass. It had been six years since the Reichman incident. Six years of recovery and rebuilding. Six years…without Sara.

The group came to a stop before a small marble headstone and one by one laid a flower down at its base. Twelve flowers rested there when the last had laid his down and now the group seemed at a loss for what to do. The eldest of them knelt down in the grass and ran fingers along the letters engraved there. A tear slipped down his cheek as he did so, followed by another and another, and soon he was 

crying freely, heedless of the eleven others standing around him. He had been kneeling there for quite some time, crying and thinking of what could have been, when he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"Why are you crying, Uncle Gil?" asked the little girl to whom the hand belonged. "Are you sad?"

Turning to the child, Grissom pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick hug. The little girl smiled up at him and patiently waited for a reply.

"Yes," he finally managed. "I am very sad, angel. A very dear friend of mine is gone."

The little girl frowned at this and turned to look at her father questioningly, who immediately came forward and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on little tyke," Warrick said, scooping her off the ground. "Let's go see if we can find some pretty flowers in that field over there."

The little girl smiled eagerly as they walked away, her mind already turned to other matters. The child's mother followed them and Grissom watched happily as Warrick and Catherine played cheerfully with their daughter, Sara Beth. He had never been so proud in his life as when they had decided to name her after Sara. And Sara Beth was a credit to her namesake. She had an insatiable curiosity and charming urge to know any and everything she could about everything. He could not have loved her more if she was his own child.

After watching the happy family for a while, he turned back to the others gathered around the grave. Greg and Wendy were standing hand in hand, very near to the marble headstone. Greg noticed Grissom looking at him and smiled slightly.

"Doing okay, Grissom?" he asked the older man.

Grissom nodded and Greg's smile widened and he turned to Wendy, who also smiled. Greg had been instrumental in Grissom's recovery, after he had woken up in the hospital. Greg had been a sure and steady presence throughout the whole ordeal. He had always been the first to arrive at the hospital in the morning and the last to leave at night and when Grissom had left the hospital, a few weeks after regaining consciousness, Greg had come to stay with Grissom until the latter was well enough to be on his own. Grissom had once asked Greg why he had done everything he had. Greg's reply brought tears to his eyes.

"I promised Sara."

And with Greg came Wendy. After finding Grissom in the desert, the two had become nearly inseparable. Wendy was at Grissom's townhouse almost as much as Greg was. But Grissom didn't mind in the least. She was able to give him a different kind of support that Greg could not. And when Greg had proposed to her and she had accepted, Grissom had been sitting right there, watching. He was the first to congratulate them and he was the best man at the wedding six months later.



Next, Grissom turned to Nick who was standing close to Mandy with his arm around her shoulders. They had only been dating for a few months, but already Grissom could see how happy they were with each other. He expected that they would be engaged soon and he delighted that they had found one another. Nick smiled at him, but didn't say anything and Mandy did the same.

Next Grissom turned to Hodges and Henry who were standing a little apart from the rest of the group. The two had become very good friends in the years since Sara died. Grissom watched them banter with one another and smiled. He was glad that they had become friends.

Lastly, he turned to Brass, who was standing with his arm around Sophia's waist. Of all the people in the world who would understand what Grissom had gone through when Sara died, it was Brass. The detective had always viewed Sara as the daughter he had always wanted Ellie to be and he had been fiercely protective of her. It was Brass that had kept an eye on Sara after she started drinking and it was Brass that stayed with her the most when she was in the hospital after she was kidnapped by Natalie Davis. He had been there even more often than Grissom had, refusing to leave Sara's side for anything less than a serial killer. Grissom found no greater comfort than that of his best friend. He knew that Brass had been just as affected by her death as Grissom had. Grissom was glad that he had found comfort in Sophia. They had been together for the better part of two years and Grissom was thrilled that his best friend had found someone who made him so happy.

Finally, he turned back to the grave, kneeling down in the grass next to her headstone again. As he traced the letters of her name once more, he felt the grief, still raw and fresh, rise up in him. It had been the longest six years of his life without her. There had never been a day go by that he hadn't thought of her for at least a moment. He had learned to live with the pain of knowing that he would never see her again, but he was still living with a huge hole in his heart where Sara used to reside.

The others had wandered away as he knelt there, giving him a moment alone with her. For the first time, in the six years that she had been gone, he spoke to her.

"Hey, butterfly, he said in a choked voice, using the nickname she had loved. "It's been a while since I was here. I'm glad to see that they're keeping the place up."

Grissom fell silent and sat in the grass, staring at the ground, lost in memories. He pulled up a handful of grass and watched as the breeze blew the grass from his hand and mixed it with the swirling leaves. He took a deep, shaky breath.

"You should see Warrick and Catherine's little girl, my love," he said with a teary smile. "Sara Beth is so much like you. She's so inquisitive and so full of life. She is such a joy to all of us. Brass spoils her in the worst way. He just can't seem to say no to her."

Grissom fell silent again, in no hurry to finish what he had planned to say. He watched the others playing with Sara Beth and smiled, glad that they were able to put the past behind them. Finally, he turned back to the marble



"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," he whispered. "I tried, my love. I really tried. I did everything in my power to keep you alive. I pressed on and on in that desert, carrying you, hoping and praying that I could find help in time, but I wasn't strong enough, Sara. I wasn't strong enough to save you."

Tears dripped down his face and he let them, unable to even lift his hands to wipe them away. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, crying at her headstone, but he gradually became aware that there was a crowd of people around him, lending him their support. None of them said a word, but he knew that they were there for him. He could practically feel the force of their love and their support. This revelation brought on a fresh wave of tears, but now they were tears of joy.

He knew that there would always be a hole in his heart where Sara had once been, but he also knew that it was time for him to move on and to start living again. For six years he had grieved, but there in the graveyard, surrounded by the people he loved, he finally felt that he could let go of his grief.

Drying his cheeks with his sleeve, he turned to Sara Beth and, scooping her into his arms, covered her tiny cheeks with kisses. Her laughter and the astonishment and laughter of the others was his saving grace. With Sara Beth nestled in his arms, he turned from the grave, filled with peace for the first time in six years. It was a beautiful day and through the silence, he heard the birds sing.

THE END.


End file.
